


Pirate's Gold

by Underthebluerain



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Pirates of the Caribbean Fusion, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Dehydration, Don't copy to another site, Family Drama, Historical Fantasy, I don't know if I've mentioned it but there are pirates, Kidnapping, M/M, Pirates, Sleep Deprivation, Slow Burn, Starvation, Threats of Violence, Treasure Hunting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-01-24 14:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18573211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Underthebluerain/pseuds/Underthebluerain
Summary: While sailing to Armonia aboard the Hand of Merope, a young Dick Simmons encounters a shipwreck and its only survivor, along with a gold pirate medallion. That is where his troubles start.





	1. Fog Bound

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't planning on posting this yet, but hey, it's World Book Day! And since I recently decided to dedicate myself to writing, and I can't publish a book yet, have a fic!

The Caribbean Sea was grey.

All the stories Dick had read about it painted it a beautiful, shining blue —the kind that blinded the eyes and tugged at the heart. But the sight before him was cold and misty, and he felt tears prick his eyes. Ireland might have been just as foggy and grey as this, but it had been home, and now he was sailing away, to some place he had never known and yet did not even have the courtesy to look new.

He heard steps behind him and straightened his back, just as he quickly blinked away the tears.

“Richard,” the steely voice of his father said at his back. “I thought I told you to stay in your cabin.”

He had, and in truth, Dick didn’t know just why he had come out. His father was not the kind of man who forgave, and he was not the kind of boy who disobeyed. Yet this morning he had felt an irrepressible impulse to gaze at the sea, and against the fear that the water and his father inspired in him, he had followed it.

Even if it had been a disappointment. Perhaps his father had been right after all.

“Yes, father,” he said, and as he was about to turn and leave, he saw it.

A bright, orange spot in the middle of the grey.

He blinked —surely, it had been a trick of the light, unless there were some colorful fish swimming around that close to the surface— and the spot was gone. He looked harder. There, in the mist —something was moving. But it wasn’t the right color, it was...

The fog cleared a little and the burning, sinking remains of a ship came into view.

Suddenly, the sleepy ship Dick was on seemed to noisily come to, almost as if the sight of its dying companion had imbued a new life force in it. The sailors ran across the deck, repeating orders at each other, all with a purpose to fulfill.

A hand roughly settled on his shoulder and he turned, startled. The Admiral was looking down at him, a frown in his bronzed face. “Boy,” he growled, “you should either be out of our way, or lending a hand.”

Dick swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I... I can keep watch, sir. I won’t let that ship out of my sight.”

The man grunted, “Good man,” and left with his father, shouting more orders along the way.

Dick turned his gaze to the scene again, but in truth, he was not looking at the ship. His eyes scoured the water, which now looked almost black, searching for the strange spot he had seen.

His eyes had begun to hurt with the heat and the smoke when he saw something floating above the water. No, not just something. It was a charred, broken piece of wood, and upon it, clad in bright yellow clothing—

“There!” he found himself shouting. “Look, next to the ship! There’s someone there!”

His young voice was not loud or important enough to cut through the noise. Luckily, one of the seamen, a broad man with olive skin, who was picking up a rope nearby, lifted his head and his sharp gaze followed the direction of Dick’s finger. His eyes widened.

“Man overboard!” His voice was not the kind that could be ignored, and soon a group of sailors gathered around them. One of them threw a boathook overboard with tremendous precision, the tip firmly sinking into the wooden surface. They all began to pull it towards the ship, except for one, who climbed down to rescue the person on it.

Dick could barely see among all the chaos, but the people cleared when the sailor reappeared on deck, a small body in his arms. He deposited it —Dick saw now that it was a child— slowly on the floor, stepping back only when a man, whom Dick knew to be the doctor aboard, kneeled next to them.

After a few seconds, during which Dick didn’t realize he waited with bated breath, the doctor lifted his head. “She’s alive.”

A sigh of relief seemed to go through the crew. A booming voice stated, “Our work here is not over, men! There might be more survivors. Ready a boat!”

While the sailors scattered, the owner of the voice —the Admiral— looked around until he spotted Dick. He kneeled to look him in the eyes. “You did well, son. Sharp eyes.” Dick felt himself swell at the praise. “Now, I have a new task for you. You’re in charge of this young girl. You’ll look after her, and when she wakes up, I want you to talk to her. Find out who she is, and what happened, if she can say. Then I want you to call me. Understood?”

Dick nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The Admiral stood up. “Good.”

Dick stepped closer to the girl. She was a child of about his age, perhaps a little younger. She looked small and thin, much thinner than even Dick himself, whose slimness had often prompted their old cook to shake her head and exclaim, “This boy needs to be fed an entire pig in one sitting if he’s to ever grow!” She had long black hair and dark skin, and was clad in the brightest yellow dress he had ever seen.

He frowned. Had he seen something else? Whatever it was on the water at first, it had been a slightly different color. Or had it just seemed so? 

Taking care not to leave the girl’s side, he looked out into the ocean again. The other ship was not on fire anymore, just a sad, blackened piece of destroyed wood that was slowly sinking. But besides it, and the boat containing the sailors of their own ship, there was nothing. Surely, if there had been more survivors, the more experienced seamen would have found them.

It must have been a trick of the light.

He turned his attention back to the child. The sailors were moving more slowly now, the sense of urgency decreasing. He could hear snippets of their conversations around them.

“Did they find anyone else?”

“No. Just the girl. One survivor out of a whole ship.”

The other man cursed under his breath. “Bloody hell. What happened?”

“Captain says powder magazine blew up. But if you ask me, and the Admiral agrees, it was pirates. These seas are infested with vermin.” Both sailors spit disdainfully at the floor and went about their business, unaware of the chill that their words had just caused to go up Dick’s spine.

Pirates. Dick had read a thousand stories about them, men and women who lived at sea and fought with swords, who were free and had to obey no rules.

Now, the thought of them being close, and of being guilty of this heart-wrenching spectacle, was nowhere near that exciting.

But Dick would be lying if he said he didn’t want to meet a pirate.

Which was probably why he could not even curse his luck when he kneeled next to the girl and saw the medallion hanging from her neck.

The golden chain was so long —clearly not a jewel made for a child, then— that the ornament had managed to become lost in her dark hair, which was likely why, in the chaos, no one else had noticed it. Dick reached out to untangle it, gently, and opened the clasp so he could examine it closer. The round shape looked like old gold, heavy and rough to the touch. A terrifying skull was engraved on both sides of it, like the nightmarish version of a common coin.

If a young girl, found in a mysterious shipwreck, was in possession of such a jewel, it could only mean...

“You’re a pirate,” Dick murmured to himself, in awe.

“Did she wake up?” The Admiral’s voice boomed at his back. Startled, Dick hid the medallion in his pocket and turned sharply to look up at the man.

“No, sir. I haven’t been able to learn anything about her, or about anything. Sir.”

Dick barely managed to hold the man’s eyes as he badly lied to his face. The sailor didn’t seem to pay any mind to his flustered state and just nodded. “Well, call for me if you do. If you go to any of these boys and ask for “Sarge”, they’ll know they can get me for you.”

Dick nodded, although he did not understand why a member of the Navy would use such a nickname. He watched Sarge leave and turned back to the girl, only to find a pair of dark brown eyes already staring at him.

“Hello,” he said, and immediately felt like a fool.

“Hello,” the girl said, sitting up. She peered curiously at the ship before focusing on Dick. “I’m Kai. Who are you?”

“My name is Dick Simmons.” He did not know what to say after that. Should he ask her about the ship? About the pirates? He did not dare. “Are you alright? We have a doctor, if you—”

“Whose ship is this?” she interrupted him.

Dick swallowed. “You are on Her Majesty’s Ship, the Hand of Merope.” He was watching her closely, and that was the only reason why he caught the understanding dawning in her eyes. Her jaw clenched, but she didn’t cry. She said nothing, asked nothing.

Dick made a decision.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re safe here.”

Even as he said that, and meant it, he could not help but think that, in just one day, he had disobeyed a direct order from his father, seen a shipwreck, saved a life, and made the decision to hide a pirate from the law.

Now it did seem like his life here would be new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this is literally a Pirates of the Caribbean Red Vs Blue AU. No, I don’t know what I'm doing with my life.
> 
> Also, I'm using titles from the soundtrack because they're dope, and because when you listen to the POTC soundtrack you can do anything.


	2. Kai and Simmons

Simmons startled awake.

It was far from the first time he had this dream —it was a recurrent one, had been since he met Kai eight years ago— but he was always disturbed by it, though he could never put his finger on why.

The shipwreck had been a scary experience, that was true, but the dream did not play out like a nightmare. Yet every time, he was roused from it suddenly, grasping at something that had barely escaped him, feeling like there was a something important that he had not even realized he’d missed.

He rubbed at his eyes and sighed. The strange feeling of loss would linger for a while, and there was nothing he could do to alleviate it.

Except for one thing.

He opened the top drawer of his nightstand, pulling it almost all the way out, and reached behind it. There it was, covered in dust. The medallion.

It looked just as menacing as the day he had first seen it, the skull’s empty eye sockets staring up at him. He didn’t understand why, but he would always feel better if he wore it.

He wiped away the layer of dust and clasped the chain around his neck, still grasping the medallion in his hand. He let it fall to his chest, near his heart. Against all reason, it felt warm against his skin.

Heavy but quick steps were heard in the hallway, and his dark room was suddenly breached by light. “Good morning, Simmons!”

Although this had happened before, Simmons could not help a surprised squeak as he hurriedly reached for a dressing gown to cover himself with. “Kai!”

“What? You’re not naked!”

“It’s still not appropriate!”

She shrugged and continued her advance to open the curtains, unfazed. “Oh, please, Simmons. There is hardly anything there I haven’t seen before!”

Simmons flushed and thanked his lucky stars that his father spent too much of his time sequestered in his office to ever hear the way Kai spoke. “God, Kai. Keep talking like that and everyone will believe that we’re—” he paused at her knowing smirk, “That we have— Oh, you know!” he exclaimed, throwing a pillow at her.

She dodged nonchalantly while laughing. “Fine, fine. Maybe I should specify that I have seen it only on other people, but my point remains.”

Simmons’ blush did not vanish in the slightest, but he couldn’t help but laugh too.

Kaikaina had been taken in by his father after the shipwreck. He had only done so out of obligation— he was to be the Governor of Armonia, and as the richest man on the island, it would have looked most uncharitable not to help the poor orphan he had rescued on his voyage. He could not allow such a reputation to spread, so he fostered the girl and promptly proceeded to ignore her existence for the next eight years.

Kai and Dick grew up together in the mansion, receiving the same lessons and the same lack of parental attention. Kai was brash, loud, and unapologetic; and Dick was bookish, shy and insecure; but they somehow became thick as thieves despite their differing personalities, and with time, came to love each other like brother and sister.

They likely would have lived under the same roof until one of them married, had Kai not had her own plans.

One morning, just after her thirteen birthday, she had disappeared from her room. The entire house staff and part of the Navy looked for her everywhere— only to eventually find her in the bakery, sitting in silence, closely observing how the bread was made. Once the commotion was over, when they were both alone, he’d asked her why she’d done it.

“I want to learn how to make bread,” she’d said simply.

Simmons was perplexed. “Do you want to be a baker?”

She had shrugged and answered, “Right now, yes.”

So she had become a baker’s apprentice. Due to the early hours of the trade, she decided it was better if she lived under the baker’s roof from then on, and she left the Governor’s house.

The first night she was gone, Simmons felt more alone than he had in his fourteen years of life, somehow even more than all the nights he had spent as an only child before knowing Kai. He pulled the medallion out of its hiding place for the first time in months and clutched it in his hand until the wee hours of the morning.

Then, after six months of learning how to bake, she returned home. She declared that she now wanted to be a chandler, and so she set out to do just that. She went to the town’s candlemaker and learned how to work tallow and wax for five months. The job hours not being as demanding, she was back to living at the Governor’s house. Simmons found her drastic change in vocation curious, but he was too happy that she was back to complain about it.

They had been receiving their fencing lessons for about six years —Simmons was utterly hopeless at it, Kai had natural talent— when she developed an interest in how the swords were made. She talked to the blacksmith and began working for him at the forge, which lasted for about a year.

It seemed that, as intense as her passion for all the disciplines was, none of them could hold her attention for too long. By the time she’d reached seventeen, she’d tried most of the trades in town for a few months each. She had been a cook, a cobbler, a tailor, a cooper. The only jobs she had never held were that of a sailor and a fisherwoman. The former, she claimed it was because they would not let her join and then leave after a short period of time; the reason to avoid the latter, she had never explained to Simmons. Secretly, he was relieved— both would mean she would certainly be away for a long time, and he was not keen to see her going off on a ship. 

They had never discussed the shipwreck. The first few months after she had started living at his house, Simmons had not dared bring it up, remembering her silence on the Hand of Merope and not wanting her to doubt his commitment to her secret. It had disappointed him, but if she wanted to pretend that she was not a pirate and ignore her past completely, he would respect her wishes.

Then, as the years went by, he had made the decision to never talk to her about it. He feared that if he did, it would awaken something, and she would realize that she missed the sea and leave Armonia —leave him— forever. 

He did not even know if she was aware that he knew— she had not enquired after the medallion and he had kept it hidden all this time, never telling a soul about it. As she began to leave home for certain periods of time, he started wearing it more often.

Sometimes, she lived at the manor, other times, she would stay somewhere else. As far as Simmons knew, there was no external cause for the changes in profession, and she would rarely announce her return home beforehand.

Just as she hadn’t this time, Simmons mused to himself as he observed her opening the window and looking out. A far cry from the bony little creature she had been, she was now a tall, plump woman who seemed to exude confidence, while Simmons, although he had grown almost as tall as her, had remained scrawny and timid.

Sometimes, Simmons would look at her, this woman who was trapped in the same island as him, who had been raised in the same conditions with the same people, and he could not comprehend how she had such enthusiasm and ease for everything in life. He would feel a sharp pang of envy at the thought that he had received the same, yet had never found a calling, or achieved proficiency at anything he had attempted. 

Not even his insecurities could shake his deep fondness and admiration for her, however. Simmons had never told her, but he considered her his best and only friend. 

And as inappropriate as this was, he was glad that she was once again back.

What they had now, even if she had never stopped moving forward while he felt stuck, was better than her forsaking him entirely.

“Well, then,” Kai sat on the corner of the bed, legs crossed, “what is the plan for today?”

“It is Sarge’s promotion ceremony this afternoon,” Simmons answered. At her blank look, he added, “He’s becoming Commodore.”

“I heard,” she said in a disinterested tone. “You couldn’t pay me to go to that.”

Simmons suppressed a chuckle. “Well, I know you don’t like him—”

“Of course I don’t like him, Simmons. He’s old and that is disgusting.”

“—But my father specifically requested that I go.”

“By which you mean, ordered.” She looked at him, her expression curious. “Why?”

It was Simmons’ turn to shrug. “He didn’t say.” He gestured to a box on his table. “He did send the clothes he expects me to wear, though.”

She crinkled her nose. “And as he commands shall be done, won’t it?” She rose. “Well, even if I wanted to go to the most boring party in town, I have errands to run. You can tell me about it tonight. You don’t mind if I don’t go, do you?”

“Not at all,” Simmons said, absently touching the hidden medallion through the fabric of his sleeping shirt. “And you’re right. I doubt anything interesting will happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, something's gonna happen.
> 
> No, it will, I promise. This chapter was originally going to directly jump into the plot, but I started writing and it became about fleshing out the relationship between Simmons and Kai and their life in Armonia, which I felt was very necessary.


	3. The Medallion Calls

Simmons discreetly waved goodbye to Kai from the carriage window until her figure became hidden by the wall and the trees surrounding the mansion. He settled in his seat, posture stiff and anxious, breathing carefully. His father, sitting beside him, had not said a word.

It was the first time he had seen his father in two weeks, which was not at all unusual. Simmons could not fault him for that —he was usually quite busy handling matters of the island, and Simmons knew that he did not rank high in his list of priorities— but it did mean that his sudden wish to see Simmons made him nervous.

Truth was, whenever his father summoned him, Simmons was as anguished as he was hopeful. He knew what his father thought of him —he had never made a great effort to conceal his disappointment at his son’s lack of abilities in combat or political prowess— and was reminded of it every time they spoke. And yet, a part of Simmons that could never be fully extinguished still hoped, longed, for a second of recognition from him.

“I suppose you are wondering why I requested your presence today, Richard,” his father broke the silence and Simmons hurried to keep any trace of his current thoughts from showing on his face.

He cleared his throat. “Of course, father.” He did not add that he would have gone to Sarge’s moment of glory even if it hadn’t been demanded of him.

The soon to be Commodore was a peculiar man overall, but he had been a constant in Simmons’ life. He had reached Armonia as an Admiral, in the same ship as Simmons and his father, as eager to serve Queen and country as any other person in the Navy. His position meant that he was a frequent guest at the Governor’s house, where Simmons found, mostly by spying behind closed doors, that he gave speeches as effectively as he used any kind of weapon.

Once, when he was eleven, Sarge had found him practicing his fencing movements late at night, crying from the effort of holding up the blade and the shame of not being able to use it well. He’d gripped him by the shoulders and for the entire night tried to show him the correct posture, the main techniques —mostly offensive ones—, insisting that he had to learn how to fight.

It had not made him better. Simmons was no stranger to being a disappointment, but the look in Sarge’s eyes when he finally gave up, come dawn, hurt more keenly than any time he had seen it in his father.

Still, Sarge had grunted, patted him in the back and told him they’d find something else he’d be good at, and he had never stopped taking an interest in Simmons’ education.

He was not gentle, but his presence was unfailing, and that had been enough. 

He had already been old when Simmons was a child, or so it had seemed to him, but every time he came back from a mission overseas, he seemed greyer and more tired. Still, Simmons did not notice much of a change until his return when he was sixteen.

Sarge had not come to visit that time. Simmons could only learn, thanks to the servants’ gossip, that there had been a gruesome battle in which many of his men had perished.

His methods against piracy had grown harsher after that. Simmons thought this was the reason why it had taken so long for him to receive a promotion, as his eagerness to clean the seas had intensified to the point it resembled blood lust. It seemed, however, that the Crown had finally accepted his ways, if only as a means to an end, and was ready to publicly recognize him.

His father certainly was. “The Admiral is a great man, and as the Governor’s son, it is imperative that you are there to show our support to his cause.” Simmons dutifully nodded. “However, that is not the only reason for your presence. I see you are wearing the clothes I sent for you.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you,” Simmons answered, taking care not to show any signs of discomfort over how tight the waistcoat was.

His father continued, obviously having expected no other response. “You look presentable enough. Well, I thought it unnecessary to tell you, but the Commodore insisted. After the ceremony, he will take you aside to speak with you.”

Simmons felt an anxious pang in his stomach. Was he to join the Navy, in spite of his ineptitude at almost everything it entailed? “May I enquire as to why, father?”

“He is to propose marriage to you, and you are to accept.”

Simmons almost jumped with a start, his corseted torso constricting painfully. “No,” he blurted out before he could stop himself.

His father turned to look at him, sharply. Simmons could not tell which of them felt more shocked at that moment. “What did you say?”

Simmons could have said many things. He could have pointed out the considerable age difference, bitten back that he saw Sarge as the parent he had barely had, explained that the sole idea of marrying him made him sick to his stomach. That he wasn’t ready for marriage, that he secretly —foolishly— hoped to marry for love, if he ever found someone who would take him. He found himself thoroughly unable to verbalize any of that. “No, I— I can’t—”

“And may _I_ enquire,” his father almost spat his words back at him, “as to why you feel in the right to reject such a—” 

“Father,” Simmons knew he was pleading and his father would hate it, but there was nothing else he could bring himself to do, “Please. I can’t.”

His father, as usual, regained his calm frighteningly fast. His face was back to a calculating mask, and he simply raised an eyebrow. “You can, and you will. This is a decision not made lightly, and it benefits everyone involved. Or do you think, given your worthless reputation, you could aspire to wed someone of a higher standing? This is the best and the only match I could ever make for you. You would do well to show a little gratitude.”

The carriage stopped, ignorant of having brought Simmons to the end of the world.

His father descended from it and fixed him with a disapproving look. “I do hope you demonstrate a bit more decorum in front of the Commodore and his guests.”

It took Simmons a few seconds to follow him, trying to inhale evenly and conceal any glimpse into the chaos in his mind.

 

* * *

 

The fort was flooded with people and Simmons could scarcely breathe.

He tried to focus on the ceremony that was taking place. While he was watching from the sidelines, standing with other members of high society, the Governor conducted it. Two dozen sailors clad in red coats stood in perfect formation under the hot sun, with another squad playing the drums, while the audience waited for the newly named Commodore to make his appearance.

There was nothing these people loved more than a good excuse to have a party, especially when they were celebrating what they considered the first sign of the end of piracy. Simmons raised his fingers to his chest, resting them where he knew the medallion lay under his clothes, pressed to his skin. Even in he had been in a temperate state of mind, Simmons could not have shared their enthusiasm.

Though his father had hoped that his childhood fascination with pirates would dilute with age, it had not been so. If anything, as time went by, Simmons found himself even more captivated by them. He had read every book, bought every newspaper, listened to every story. It had been his one act of defiance against his father, who openly disapproved.

He had also heard Sarge’s tales regarding his encounters with pirates, whom he painted as loathsome cowards. But Simmons couldn’t believe that. Kai was a pirate, and she was kind, and brave, and charming, wasn’t she? He had always wanted to ask her about piracy, about what it felt like to be wild, to be free. But instead he had taken pains to hide his pastime from her. He knew it would be cruel to remind her of the life she had lost at such a young age, and that certainty was more important than his curiosity.

Still… that didn’t mean Simmons couldn’t form his own ideas on the subject of pirates.

He had always pictured them as dangerous, yes, but also clever, daring. Mysterious. Exciting.

They had to be.

He was brought back to reality by the sudden stop of the drums. Sarge stood now proudly in front of the crowd, in full dress uniform, while the Governor held out a ceremonial sword. The newly appointed Commodore examined it before grasping the hilt, flourishing it with a few quick movements. He returned the sword to its scabbard amongst deafening applause.

Simmons clapped briefly, trying not to wince at the twinge of pain that ran through his body at the movement. The end of the gathering, which would normally bring him relief, only heightened his anxiousness this time, dreading what would come after.

“May I speak with you, Simmons?” With the crowd dispersed and formality slightly dispensed, the Commodore had approached without him noticing. He nodded, unable to say anything.

He took the arm Sarge was offering, and they walked towards the parapet. Simmons stood behind the highest crenel he could find and fervently wished it was windier.

“Now,” Sarge began, sounding hesitant. “I take it your father has already informed you of…” he trailed off after seeing Simmons nod frantically.

 _Don’t say it_ , he prayed inwardly, now gasping for air. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing, but Sarge had resumed talking—

“...Not achieved. The thing all men and women most require: a marriage...”

 _No_. Somebody had to make him stop. He didn’t want this. He needed a fan, a breeze, anything. Everybody must be watching them. He couldn’t do this. It felt like the waistcoat was even tighter now, every small breath he drew painful. He stumbled, slightly, and had to lean on the stone wall. He couldn’t focus, he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t—

“I can’t breathe,” he sighed, and felt himself fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the plot kicks off!


	4. No Real Ship

The sun, the wind and the spray of the waves stroked his face, and Grif was reminded once more that he belonged at sea.

Closing his eyes, he mused that there were only a precious few things that were pleasant in life, and this had to be one of them.

So pleasant, in fact, that it almost made him forget his plight, until a whirring sound of suffering wood claimed his attention from below. Water had started sliding in about an hour after he’d set sail, and the ship had been complaining accordingly ever since.

Damn him, damn Vera, and damn the ruinous ship he’d borrowed from her and her little crew.

He groaned and jumped down, grabbing the tankard, and resumed bailing water out while cursing under his breath. Was it too much to ask for borrowed goods to be in a decent condition? Not a storm, not a crash, and yet the little boat was undoubtedly doomed. And according to Vera, it was new to boot. Apparently, people’s standards were incredibly low these days, he silently grumbled. Good thing he was now close to port, or he would be in real trouble.

He was distracted from his labor by the sight of the skeletal remains of three people, hanging from gallows prominently displayed between two big rocks. Tied up in an empty noose next to them, there was a sign that said: ‘Pirates - ye be warned’.

Grif took a deep breath. He had been expecting this, he told himself, despite all the disbelief his crew had loudly voiced, he’d known what he was getting into. Armonia was the symbol of the Crown’s fight against piracy, the headquarters of the Royal Navy, and if his sources were truthful, the residence of the next Commodore. All in all, the worst town for a pirate to go to.

But he was running out of places, out of ideas, and even a little out of hope.

Still… He grabbed the gold medallion that he always wore around his neck and hid it under his shirt, as familiar a weight as ever. There was no need to raise more suspicions than his appearance doubtlessly would by showing off such a strange jewel.

Ignoring the state of his vessel and the stares he was receiving from the people working at the pier, Grif climbed up the rigging of the boat, squared his shoulders, and prepared for the worst.

He would find his sister, whatever it took.

 

* * *

 

There sure was a party up there.

Grif was not invited, that was for damn certain.

Not that he would’ve gone, had he been —that kind of shindig was bound to have a lot of Navy members present, possibly even some that he may have met personally. It would be suicide to walk into.

The possibility of free food to eat, arrogant redcoats to vex and pretty nobles to flirt with was still tempting. But he wasn’t that much of a fool to risk it.

He tore his gaze from the fort walls and resumed his nonchalant walk, his gait as confident as if he had stepped on Armonia’s dock a hundred times before. 

Unfortunately, that was not so, which was why he was surprised by a reprimanding voice coming from behind him. “It's a shilling for the dock space, sir, and you're going to have to give me your name.”

Grif turned his head to find a bespectacled boy that was holding a ledger under his arm. He then turned it even further around to pointedly look at the small boat he’d arrived in, which was currently sinking at the docks’ end.

The harbormaster followed his gaze and said, “It’s still docked in.”

Grif suppressed an irritated sigh and gave him a winning smile. “What do you say to three shillings, and we forget the name?”

The boy eyed the coins and closed the book immediately. “Welcome to Armonia, sir.”

Grif saluted him and went on his way, not before pocketing the boy’s purse with a swift movement.

His eyes searched the crowd near the pier avidly —it would be too lucky, especially for him, to find Kai right away, if she was even here. But he still tried.

Having found no trace of her, as he knew he would not, he took a moment to mock his foolish heart for its naïve hope, and set to investigate the docks.

He wasn’t planning on leaving just yet, but he’d learned finding a way out was always primordial. He knew what he was looking for —a discreet ship, nothing too flashy, which he could maneuver by himself— but he still found himself drawn to one of the most beautiful. A great specimen, imposing but not oversized, with no one to be seen around.

He smiled slightly. When the time came, it would be much too easy.

Or not, he thought as he reached the stairs to the ship —just to look at it closer, promise—, when he heard the sound of two pairs of boots rushing behind him.

A couple of young sailors hastily came to stand in front of him, cutting off the way. “I’m sorry, but this dock is off-limits to civilians, sir!” the tallest one said.

“Don’t apologize, Matthews,” the other sailor remarked dryly. He gave Grif a look. “He should know. Everybody knows.”

“Well, see,” Grif said, good-naturedly, “I’m new here. Worry not, if I see a civilian, I shall inform you immediately.” He moved, but the two stopped him again. “Can’t help but notice you’re not at the party with the rest of the Navy. Didn’t get invited?”

“Someone has to keep watch at the dock,” the unenthusiastic of the two replied in a voice that made it clear he wished he was anywhere else, including said party.

“Yes!” the one called Matthews interjected, his cheery tone making up for that of his partner. “It is an honor for Bitters and I to be chosen for this task!”

Grif eyed Bitters’ expression. “Is it? It seems to me this ship is fine, but it pales in comparison to that one.” He pointed to an enormous ship that was currently maneuvering near the island.

“The Hand of Merope is the flagship, true, sir!” Matthews helpfully supplied. “But there’s none that can match the Longsword Interceptor in speed!”

“Stop feeding him information,” Bitters grumbled, a protest which both Grif and Matthews ignored completely.

“Ah, I’ve heard of one,” Grif said. “It’s supposed to be very fast, nigh uncatchable. The Wraith.”

Bitters laughed. “Well, fine. There’s no real ship that can match it, is what we mean.”

Matthews stared at him. “The Wraith is a real ship.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is! I’ve seen it.”

Grif was beginning to regret initiating this conversation. “You've seen a ship with black sails that's crewed by the damned and captained by a man so evil that hell itself spat him back out?” Bitters asked.

Matthews hesitated. “No.”

“So you haven’t seen it.”

“But I have seen a ship with black sails!”

“Only a ship with black sails that’s crewed by—!”

The argument would have doubtlessly continued, so Grif interrupted. “So, the Wraith hasn’t been seen around Armonia then?” he enquired.

Both boys shook their heads, finally agreeing on something. “No, sir. No pirate ship dares come as close to Armonia, and we certainly would have noticed that one.”

Bitters frowned. “Why the interest?”

Grif shrugged. “I just wanted to make sure this was the safe haven from pirates everyone claims it is. You understand.”

The sailor’s eyes narrowed further. “Really.” He took a step closer, his hand on his pistol. “What’s your purpose here, exactly?”

Matthews, following his partner’s example, added, “And no lies!”

Grif knew it was foolish, he knew, but he could not resist. “I confess. I intend to commandeer one of these ships, pick up my ragtag crew in Rat’s Nest, and then raid, pillage, plunder and generally pilfer until we're satisfied.”

There was a moment of silence. “I said no lies!” Matthews spluttered.

“I think he’s telling the truth,” Bitters said.

“If he were telling the truth he wouldn't have told us!”

“Unless, of course, he knew you wouldn't believe the truth if he told it to you,” Grif unhelpfully supplied.

The two boys exchanged an agitated look, then simultaneously pointed their weapons at him.

Well, he’d worked with tougher crowds than this.

 

* * *

 

“And then they made me their Captain,” Grif concluded, and just when he made a pause to wait for the customary impressed gasps from his riveted audience, a splash was heard.

He and the two sailors turned their heads towards the sound and stood up. The white foam on the surface of the water could still be seen, even from a distance. Someone had fallen in, clearly.

Grif looked up at the fort wall and saw a uniformed man standing on it. Unless he jumped too, he wouldn’t get there in time.

He turned to look at Matthews. “Will you be saving them, then?”

The boy looked anguished. “I can’t swim!” Grif stared at Bitters, who gave him a blank look back.

Grif rolled his eyes. “Pride of the Queen’s Navy, you are.” He begrudgingly took off his hat and bandolier, and dove in.

He was usually much faster in the water than on his feet, but this time he felt a momentary resistance slam against him, like an underwater wave. He kicked more determinedly, however, and in a few seconds, he’d reached the sinking form —a man. He wasn’t moving. 

He grabbed him and tugged upwards, but he was too heavy. The coat, Grif realized —stupidly long thing, getting in the way. He pulled it off with some difficulty.

They reached the surface, but when they broke through, he was the only one gasping for air —the man was still unconscious. Swallowing a curse, Grif wrapped an arm around him and swam back to the docks. 

While he climbed up, he could hear the sailor’s panicked squeals. “Oh my god... it’s—”

“Shut up and help me with him,” he interjected, changing his tone to the bark he reserved for orders. It worked —the two boys took the man off him and laid him on the floor, if among ramblings of “Is he dead?”

Grif climbed all the way up. The man was not breathing. He pushed the sailors aside and pressed his hands down on his abdomen. “Get me a coat, or a blanket, something. We need to warm him up.” He repeated the movement, but to no change.

He eyed the form under his hands critically, taking in the formal clothing. Suddenly struck by inspiration, he scrambled to grab his discarded knife. He unsheathed it, and as he heard someone give a shout of alarm at the sight, ripped the waistcoat open and tore it from his body.

The man came to, coughing up water and gasping.

“Oh, damn,” Bitters murmured.

“I never would’ve thought of that,” came an admired exhalation from Matthews.

Grif sent them both an unimpressed glance. “Clearly, you’ve never been to Armada.”

Still, he was about to sigh with relief himself, much as he would rather deny it, when the man’s abrupt movements made the dwindling light hit something that was hanging from his neck.

Grif felt his blood run cold. As if it belonged to someone else, he saw his own trembling hand reach out to grasp the medallion. The man, no longer thrashing around, turned his head to look at him, looking disoriented. 

Grif met his green eyes squarely. “Where did you get this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, a pirate finally appeared in my pirate AU! The tags are no longer false advertising!


	5. Captain Dexter Grif

When Simmons came to, it was to a burning sensation in his throat as he vomited seawater. He was on a ship… No, the floor under him was wooden, but it was not rocking, that was due to his own dizziness. He was lying on a dock.

When he managed to turn his head, which felt heavy as a stone, he met two dark eyes that were already watching him. _Kai_ , he thought, but that was wrong. It was a man, and Simmons did not know who he was.

Before he could ask, the stranger said, in a low voice, “Where did you get this?” He was kneeling over him and holding the medallion in his hand, his grip on it gentle, fingers shaking.

A racket of feet and guns being cocked prevented any answer, though Simmons did not know which one he would have given. Through the pounding in his head, he felt someone gently pulling him to his feet and putting something on his shoulders. He shivered —hadn’t he already been wearing a coat this morning? A cold breeze made him realize, much to his mortification, that he was standing there with his chest practically bare —someone had torn his undershirt and his waistcoat was missing. He drew the coat around himself and sent a grateful look towards the sailor who had covered him.

His father was standing next to him, suddenly, his hand as iron around his forearm. “Richard. What is the meaning of this?”

Simmons blinked, still discombobulated. “I was…” It took him a moment to notice that his clothing was wet. “I fell. I was drowning.” He looked at the young man, who was soaked to the bone as well, and whose eyes were still on him. “I think he saved me.”

As he spotted his torn waistcoat —and felt a spike of vengeful satisfaction at the sight— his father glared at him. “Truly? That is not all it looked like.”

Simmons felt his face heat as he realized what his father was frostily implying, and stole another glance at the man. His eyes hadn’t left Simmons yet, and he felt a curious jolt go through his body. He averted his gaze, still blushing.

His first impression had been right, he had never met him, but something about him seemed strangely familiar. Even kneeling on the floor, he was tall. Stout, with dark brown skin and long black hair. Simmons frowned. Something…

Sarge took one look at the state of Simmons’ clothes, then at the soaked stranger closely watching Simmons, and nonchalantly said, “Shoot him.”

Simmons was startled, and felt outrage build up in his stomach. “No!” he blurted out before he could stop himself. All the people present turned their eyes to him, and he squirmed. He had never disagreed with his father or Sarge in public, but he could not stay silent this time. “Sa— Commodore. Do you really intend to kill my rescuer?”

He could see his father’s lip curl at that, and didn’t need to hear his next words to know that he considered needing any sort of help shameful. “A ‘rescue’ that would have been entirely unnecessary, to be sure, had you been less inattentive or more capable.” He glanced at the stranger and at Simmons’ ruined clothing. “Honestly, Richard, I am amazed that you can still find the nerve to speak up after being involved in such a scene.”

Expecting the blow as he was, Simmons still flushed with equal parts embarrassment and anger. Of course his father would see this as further demonstration of his faults and as a potential scandal to boot.

It wasn’t as if he had thrown himself off a cliff on purpose! And the man had saved him, even if it had been through, well, unconventional means. Why couldn’t his father focus on that? Why didn’t he care more about his son’s life than about his own image?

“Now, now, Governor, I’ll admit the boy is right,” Sarge surprisingly intervened. He held out a hand at the stranger. “I believe thanks are in order, aren’t they?”

The man’s gaze finally left Simmons to observe the hand, which he took after a few seconds of consideration. As he pulled him to his feet, Sarge yanked his arm towards him and pushed back his sleeve, exposing a tattoo.

“That is beautiful,” the Commodore remarked, not letting go of the man’s hand. His tone was light, but Simmons had known him for a long time, and everything about it promised danger. “A swallow, correct?”

The man’s eyes seemed guarded. “Correct.”

“Now, I’m an old man out of touch with these traditions, but I seem to recall it means something.”

The stranger shrugged. “It just seemed pretty, and I was quite drunk at the time. There was this bet, you see—”

“Indulge me,” Sarge interjected. “I’m sure it means something specific. I believe it is meant to show that one has sailed the Seven Seas. An impressive accomplishment, that.”

“Thank you.”

“But you don’t look like you’re in the Navy.” That was an understatement, Simmons thought, considering the man’s long hair, lack of uniform and generally unkempt appearance. “So tell me, how did you manage to travel so much, by your own means, being so young?”

The man tilted his head. “I’m… a merchant.”

Sarge blinked. “A merchant.”

“Yes.”

“And… where exactly is your cargo?”

“In my ship.” Then, after a pause, “Which, unfortunately, sank.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Sarge said. “I’m certain we can help you with that. You surely had to identify yourself to Harbormaster Cunningham when you arrived! You need only give us your name as he registered it, and we will be able to assist.”

There was a moment of silence.

Then the stranger, deceptively quick, made to jump into the water once again. He would have succeeded, had Sarge not clearly been expecting something like that to happen. He restrained him for a moment, long enough for the rest of the sailors to catch up with their commander.

“As I thought,” Sarge was smiling now, as his men pointed their guns once more. “A wretched sea-robber!” Simmons gasped and turned to look at the stranger again.

He was a pirate.

While this discovery had rendered Simmons speechless, it seemed to have loosened the pirate’s tongue. “Well, I’d say that’s a bit excessive. I was just passing by—”

“Now, boy,” Sarge interrupted impatiently, “you’re going to hang either way. So do save everyone here some time and tell me your name.”

The man seemed to consider if it could harm his cause further to reveal it, and seemed to decide the answer was no. “Captain Dexter Grif.”

“Dexter Grif. Make a note of that, Matthews.”

Simmons had felt his breath catch at the name, but the pirate’s eyes narrowed. “ _Captain_ Dexter Grif, if you don’t mind.”

Sarge made a show of looking around. “I don’t see your ship, ‘Captain’.”

The pirate gave him an unfriendly smile. “Like I said. It sank.”

One of the younger sailors, the one Sarge had addressed as Matthews, gasped suddenly. “He said he was going to commandeer one!”

“I told you he was telling the truth,” another young man in uniform added.

The first sailor kneeled and picked up a bundle from the floor. “These are his, sir!”

The Commodore examined the objects one by one. “A cheap knife… a pistol with only one bullet… and I half expected your sword to be made of wood.” Sarge laughed along with his sailors. “You are, without a doubt, the worst pirate I’ve ever heard of.”

The pirate raised a finger. “Ah, but you have heard of me.”

“We’ll hang him in the morning.” Following a jerk of Sarge’s head, one of the sailors advanced with irons.

Simmons tore his eyes away from the man —the _pirate_ — and tried again. “Sir, please, reconsider—”

Sarge shook his head. “Nothing to reconsider, lad. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. Pirates are the scum of the earth! Vile and dissolute creatures, the lot of them! I believe I have made it clear that I intend to see to it that any person who sails under a pirate flag, or wears a pirate’s brand, gets what they deserve: a short drop and a sudden stop.” He laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Now, son,” he said, “stop squabbling and let me do my job.”

Simmons shook lightly as he moved to stand between Sarge and the pirate, feeling his father’s eyes on him. The red coat slipped from his shoulders, but he knew he couldn’t afford to go back for it, lest he lose his waning nerve. “Commodore, I really must protest. Pirate or not, this man saved my life.”

Sarge’s eyes had a dangerous gleam to them as he answered. “One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness.”

“But it seems enough to condemn him,” the pirate himself mused as the manacles were put on him.

Sarge locked eyes with him and smiled, toothily. “Indeed.”

He shrugged. “Oh well.” Everything happened too fast to stop it. Suddenly, an iron chain was wrapped around Simmons’ throat, not tight enough to choke him, but just so that he could not step away. The sailors raised their weapons at once, but they did not dare shoot.

The pirate drew Simmons towards him until they were at the edge of the pier. “Old man, my belongings. Oh, and the key to the manacles, if it’s not too much trouble.”

There was a pause during which Sarge’s eyes remained fixed on the pirate’s. After a moment —Simmons could see his jaw working, and knew how much he hated having to comply— he made a gesture to one of his sailors and she brought forward the requested effects.

The pirate —Grif, Simmons recalled— murmured in his ear, “Richard— It is Richard, isn’t it?”

Simmons gritted his teeth. “It is ‘Mr. Simmons’ to you.”

Grif huffed a laugh and drawled, “Mr. Simmons, if you would be so kind...”

Simmons hesitated, but held out his hands to receive the bundle. Grif jerked him around so that they were facing each other —Simmons' pulse quickened at realizing how improperly close they were— and picked up the pistol. “Now, if you’ll be very kind...”

Did he really…? Simmons scoffed, disbelieving. “Do you actually expect me to furnish you?”

“Consider it a polite way of showing gratitude. Or, you know, a simple thank you would suffice.”

“That might sound more believable were you not threatening me at the moment.”

“You people take threats against your lives far too seriously.” Grif smirked. “And it was probably inappropriate of me to ask as well, wasn’t it.” The pirate’s eyes wandered towards his chest for a moment, and Simmons reddened. “But I’m still asking.”

“Do it yourself!” he spluttered.

Grif shrugged. “My arms are tired. You know, from lifting you up from the bottom of the ocean and carrying you out?” he said by way of explanation.

“I imagine pirates are not very familiar with the concept of work, but you must be one indolent specimen if that is all it takes to wear you out.”

That earned him a laugh. “Oh, right. I suppose you’d know a lot about work, is that it? That’s what looking at those smooth, pale hands tells me.” Simmons felt a rush of embarrassment. Grif shook the chains, reminding him of their current state. “Well, not that I don’t love this little battle, but I am in a hurry.”

Simmons pressed his lips into a thin line, but complied. The hat was easy enough, even if he had to look at the man’s smirking face up close as he put it on his head. Then the bandolier, for which he had to reach out and put his arms around the pirate’s shoulders, then around his back and chest. He could feel Grif’s breathing on his neck as he did so, and was suddenly conscious of his own picking up. He swallowed. If they had looked scandalous before…

“Easy on the goods, sweetheart,” Grif murmured in a low voice, sounding much too smug about their position.

Simmons had no chance of ever winning a fight against anybody, but god, he wanted to deck him. “You’re despicable,” he settled for spitting, clasping his buckle harshly.

“Sticks and stones, freckles,” Grif said lightly. “Come now, I’ve saved your life, you’ve saved mine. We’re square.” He brought the chains in front of Simmons and rattled them again. “Last favor, I promise. Open these up for me?”

Simmons took hold of one of his wrists and began fitting the key in the lock. Grif’s hands were big and calloused, and his skin felt warm under Simmons’ fumbling fingers.

His own clumsiness gave him an idea, suddenly. His hands were already shaking —it was easy enough to ‘accidentally’ give the key a sharper tug, then drop it. It bounced on the wooden floor, once, and sank into the water with a soft ‘plop’.

Grif’s eyes followed the trajectory of the key, then shot back up to stare at Simmons.

“Oh, no,” Simmons said flatly.

“You little… Fine.” Grif huffed and turned him around again, pointing his pistol at Simmons’ temple. “Ladies, gentlemen, this was fun, let’s do this again sometime. But now, I find myself otherwise occupied. So if you’ll excuse me—”

He suddenly shoved Simmons forward, and dove in, disappearing into the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the lovely [ a_taller_tale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/pseuds/a_taller_tale), for her continued interest and great commentary about this AU! 
> 
> She made amazing art, too, [ one of Simmons in chapter 3](https://a-taller-tale.tumblr.com/post/185441551772/there-was-nothing-these-people-loved-more-than-a), and [ one of Grif in a future, not yet published scene](https://a-taller-tale.tumblr.com/post/185441562477/you-spent-three-dayslying-on-a-beach-drinking). Be sure to check them out and enjoy!


	6. Swords Crossed

Not even an hour in Armonia, and Grif was already a wanted man.

He honestly knew his luck wasn’t the best, but this was a new record time of things going south. The worst part was, this time he hadn’t even done anything to warrant it! On the contrary, he’d actually saved a life! And did anyone thank him for it? No!

Not that he had expected them to. He’d known, the moment he’d regained his sense, that the scene did not bode well for him. A high-class young man, lying dazed across the dock, coat gone, clothes ripped in half, and Grif looming over him. It would take a fool not to realize what everybody would think.

He tried not to let too much bitterness seep into that thought. Thankfully, he had had plenty of practice, and managed it easily.

He should’ve just run the moment he heard the sailors nearing. No, he mused grumpily, in fact, what he should’ve done was leave the man to drown peacefully and not get involved.

But he had. And if he had not, he wouldn’t have found the medallion. 

The sight of it had been so unexpected that he had grabbed it without thinking, scarcely believing his eyes —why did he have it, when did he get it, did he know about— and by the time he had noticed the Navy was coming, it was too late to escape.

Bluffing his way out was his next alternative, but it hadn’t gone too well, thanks to that old geezer. After that, well, trying to leave would’ve gotten him shot, and he preferred his body as whole as possible. He had still berated himself, inwardly, knowing that he’d attracted every possible kind of attention and that he was wasting precious time.

But staying to listen had brought its own reward. As the scene unfolded before his eyes between the tricky old man, the pompous old man, and the young redhead —who was at least trying to appeal on his behalf, thank you—, he’d learned enough about who they were, and more specifically, enough to find them later.

Even more specifically, find him.

This Simmons —Mr. Simmons, his mind humorously corrected him— had seemed intent on defending him at first. If only he’d had some time alone with the young man, Grif thought, he was sure he could’ve persuaded him to reveal what he knew. Or intimidated him, or seduced him, or whatever method he’d respond to. Then he could’ve taken the medallion, and gotten out of everybody’s hair cleanly and quickly. No harm, no foul.

But of course things could never be that easy. Figures that Grif would arrive in this self-important rock and immediately meet the Governor, his son, an entire squad of sailors, and even the Commodore of the goddamn Royal Navy himself, all together like a nice welcome committee set up just for him. Was the Queen hiding behind a tree, waiting to jump out at him too? Damn them all and damn his luck!

Well, they were making life more difficult for him, but also for themselves, he thought a little darkly.

After getting out of the water at a crowded part of the docks, it had not been difficult to mix with the busy locals and subtly control the movements of the sailors that kept watch. They were still looking for him, that much was plain clear, but once a distracted fisherman unknowingly lent him a jacket to put on his shoulders and a hat in which he tucked his long hair, he was harder to recognize.

He picked up a few fishing nets as well, in order to conceal the manacles, and walked back to the port where he’d made the acquaintance of Simmons and his entourage. A fisherman would never look out of place near water, and the last place they would expect him to be was the one where he’d almost been caught, he reasoned.

Deep down, however, he knew that was not why he’d come back there. Knew that he was toeing the line, that it was stupid and reckless, but he had to do it, make sure it was still where he’d last seen it. That he hadn’t lost his only lead.

Nearing the docks that he’d recently escaped from, he did not have to search much. The Navy’s bright red uniforms, as usual, stood out like a sore thumb against the greying sky. A squad of sailors was taking positions as the Commodore barked orders. Among them, clearly being guarded, stood Simmons, clad in the borrowed red coat again, still looking damp and pitiful, which, given the worsening weather, was not surprising.

Grif eyed his form attentively, until— There it was, hanging from his neck. He still had the medallion.

He breathed deeply, trying to slow down his pounding heart. It was there. It was still there. And it could help him find Kai.

Once the Commodore was finished, the group of sailors began walking away, with Simmons in the middle. They had probably been tasked with escorting him home, and more than likely would remain there for a while as well. Grif was expecting it —after all, what had happened today guaranteed that the Governor’s security would be reinforced— but he still bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. He’d have to find a way past that.

But even if Simmons were alone, he couldn’t simply take the trinket and go. He needed time. Because if Simmons had the medallion, he must have information about Kai as well, information Grif needed to get, and would. One way or another.

Sneaking in the Governor’s house it was to be.

 

* * *

 

The smart thing to do —in as much as slipping into a government official’s guarded residence, after threatening his son, in order to possibly further threaten said son, could be called smart— was to wait until it was dark. Which suited Grif just fine. After all, he didn’t know what sort of measures he’d have to resort to in order to find out what Simmons knew, but whether they were friendly or unfriendly, the night would afford him the time and solitude preferred to carry them out.

He was still restless. But he’d waited for years, he could wait a few hours. He’d found a trace, finally. Kai had to be somehow connected to this man, possibly to this place, or at least had been at some point.

Still, he had to keep his hopes down and his guard up. A connection between the man and Kai could mean any number of things, and none that Grif could imagine were pleasant. Simmons hadn’t seemed capable of harming anybody, but people could surprise you in the worst ways, Grif had learned. His fist clenched. If he’d touched a hair on her head…

An unwanted inner voice whispered to him that there were many other plausible scenarios due to which the medallion could be here and still not lead him to his sister. Perhaps Kai had sold it, or lost it, or given it away. Perhaps she had set sail herself, and the Navy had attacked her ship and killed her, then brought back the medallion as a prize.

A trophy, now adorning the neck of the Governor’s son.

His fingers started to hurt, and he stubbornly ignored it all as he headed to town.

He had things to do to occupy his time, in the meantime. Finding someplace to eat would be easy enough —as would paying for it, on the Harbormaster’s kindness—, and he meant to subtly ask around town, learn more things about the Governor’s house and son, perhaps even about Kai herself, if possible. No one better than bored maids and talkative innkeepers to inform him of everything there was to learn about anyone, be it his sister or the medallion’s current owner. Gossip travelled faster than any ship —if anyone knew anything, he’d find out through chatter.

It was the very reason why he hadn’t given the Commodore a fake name —if there was even the slightest chance that Kai was here, he hoped his name would reach her ears, and she’d know he was in Armonia, looking for her, and perhaps she’d been looking for him too, and they could finally leave everything behind—

A metallic, jangling sound coming from under the nets he was holding interrupted his thoughts as he walked through the streets, attracting a few curious looks.

Before doing anything else, he’d have to find a way to rid himself of those pesky irons.

The forge, then.

 

* * *

 

The wooden door creaked softly as Grif and entered, closing it behind him.

The interior of the forge was in shadows, lit only by the rays of dying light coming in through a couple of barred windows —the sun must already be setting, not that much of it could be seen behind the clouds that had been gathering for a while. Grif examined the room for a few seconds, not moving a muscle. A couple of tables, one of them with a bunch of newly-made swords on it, a furnace, and a system of gears and pulleys, but not much else. As far as he could tell, he was alone, except for an old, bored-looking donkey that was yoked to the aforementioned machinery.

Cautiously stepping forward, he inspected the room quickly —nobody. Finally something resembling luck, he thought as he sighed in relief.

He set the fishing nets down on a table and, without wasting any more time, grabbed the sturdiest hammer he could find. Placing the chains on an anvil, he proceeded to bring it down on them with all his strength. Although the awful clatter was unavoidable, he still flinched. He hoped the noise would not attract anyone, but he had to keep going.

He hit the chains again and again, but he did not even make a dent on them. He looked around in frustration— Well, he’d have to spur the donkey and set the gear system in motion. Out the corner of his eye, he spotted several pointy rods next to the furnace, but ignored them as he positioned himself behind the animal and delivered a resounding smack on its rear.

It worked. The donkey began trotting, startled, and Grif set the chain on the path towards the big wheel. Just a little longer and… The wheel crushed the metal, breaking the chain in two. He was free. Now—

He turned just in time to see the latch on the door being lifted, and scrambled to hide in a dark corner as the door opened and a female voice called out, “Good evening, Mr. Randall!”

There was no response, an obvious outcome considering the only ones there were a fugitive from the law and a donkey. The blacksmith must be done with work for the day, Grif guessed —and hoped, or it was about to get very crowded in here.

“Is anyone here?” The woman took a few steps into the forge. In the scant light, Grif could barely make out her features, but he did see that she was not wearing sailor’s garb. He repressed a relieved sigh —he’d just wait for her to leave and go on his way.

“Hello, old girl,” her voice dropped to a comically affectionate tone as the woman bent down and addressed the donkey. “Were you the one causing all that racket?” At the lack of response from the animal, she kissed its head and gave it a pat, incorporating. “Well, I still have to do my job, even if old Randy isn’t here, so I’ll just leave the package to you, alright? I’m kind of in a hurry today, I really need to get home. You wouldn’t believe the stupid rumors people are spreading through town about…”

The rant directed at the donkey trailed off for no reason, at least not one that Grif could discern until the woman muttered, “What is that doing here?”

She advanced, and Grif, moving a little, followed her gaze to find the fishing nets he’d carelessly discarded tangled on a table. He cursed himself silently, and as he returned to his original position, one of the broken chains on his wrists banged into a hammer that was resting on the wall.

At the resulting clang, the woman turned her head and spotted him. He jumped out of his hiding place, racing for the door, but she was blocking the way out. Swallowing another curse, he unsheathed his sword, pointing it in her general direction. “Miss,” he said, in the lowest growl he could muster, “step aside, if you know what’s good for you.”

Despite the shadows, now that he was facing her, he realized she was as broad as he, and slightly taller. She tilted her head and he could hear the mirth in her voice as she spoke. “Funny! I was just about to say the same to you!” In a swift movement, she picked up one of the swords lying on the nearby table.

Grif couldn’t help but groan. “Look,” he said, far more sincerely, “I don’t want any trouble. Just let me leave, and that’ll be it.”

She actually chuckled. “Oh, I live for trouble.” She pointed her sword at him and fluidly stood on guard, with the assured stance of someone well instructed. “Don’t do me any favors,” she said, and suddenly lunged forward.

He had not expected her eagerness, and so Grif barely had time to lift his own sword in order to block hers. Having gauged her potential strength by her similar build, he was not surprised by it, but instead corroborated that they were more or less evenly matched.

The woman raised her blade again, and again, Grif dodging or avoiding her attacks every time. He was growing frustrated, but even in the low light, he could see that she was smiling, savagely, clearly enjoying every moment of the fight.

Well, if he could not best her by skill, strength or enthusiasm, he’d have to unbalance her with words. “You look familiar,” he said, making a show of squinting at her face, even if he could scarcely see it in the ever waning light. “Have I threatened you before?”

She scoffed, sounding irked for the first time. “Not me,” she replied, “but you’re going to wish you had.” She attacked again, and Grif blocked it, but he could feel the ire behind her strike. Either she was extremely easy to provoke, or he’d touched a nerve. Perhaps both.

“Good sword,” he panted, after a particularly firm clash of her blade against his.

“I’ve made better!” she growled.

“Really? You certainly know what you’re doing, far more than someone who’s self-taught. Fencing lessons?” he asked. If he could only distract her long enough to run to the door…

“Six years!” she answered.

“It really shows. But that is probably why,” he added, “your style is a little…” With a quick movement, he crouched to grab a fistful of dirt and throw it in her face. “Too formal.” Taking advantage of her momentary blindness, he tried for the exit, only for a sword to come flying by and ingrain itself in the door.

He turned just in time to meet his opponent again, who had procured herself another weapon. “Oh, you cheating—!” she snarled, wiping the dirt away from her face, and brought down her sword one more time. It clashed against Grif’s, the blades crossed between them.

Grif grinned, about to respond, but he noticed that her eyes had suddenly become fixed on his chest. Looking down, he saw the medallion —it must have slipped loose from under his shirt during the fight, and it glinted now with what had to be the last light of day.

The woman’s mouth opened again, but no taunts or threats came out this time. Rather, she breathed out sharply, her gaze going from the gold to Grif’s face. Her expression caught him off-guard —hopeful, but uncertain.

“Dex?” she breathed more than said, her eyes looking into his searchingly.

Grif couldn’t describe what his heart did just then, but it twisted in a manner that was both painful and sweet. She was closer than she’d been before, so that even if he could still barely distinguish her face, her eyes…

“…Kai?”

The two swords fell clattering to the floor, forgotten, as the two siblings embraced for the first time in eight years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Wipes away tear* I'm not crying...
> 
> Also, I am bad at action scenes, but I had fun writing a sword fight! It must be the battle banter.


	7. Only a Little

Grif hadn’t noticed when, but at some point they had sort of crouched together, and were now kneeling on the soft dirt floor, still in an embrace. He couldn’t bring himself to move as he carded his fingers through Kai’s hair, his other hand at her back as he’d cuddled her many times when they were much smaller. He’d been muttering ‘I missed you’s into her hair for a while, voice thick with tears of joy for the first time in his life.

Kai was crying too, if the tremors of her body and the wetness on his neck were any indication. She choked out, “I thought you were dead. Dex, I thought you were dead.”

Grif held her even closer, if that was possible. “I never did,” he whispered, a fierce tone to his words. “I didn’t believe it. I always knew you were alive, and that I’d find you.”

After some time —he didn’t know nor care how much—, he pulled slightly away, only because he wanted to see her, but then realized they were in complete darkness now, the light of the sun long gone with no other to replace it. “Are there— Do you know where to find a candle? I just… I want to...”

Kai sniffed, but he thought she was smiling as she said, “Yes, I know where they’re kept. Let me…” She got up —Grif felt the loss keenly and almost lunged to hold her again— and started rummaging through one of the drawers. She set a few candles on the table, then lit them.

Grif took a deep breath. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been a little, skinny thing with tangled hair and a dirty face. Now she was an adult, big and hale, her long hair longer than his. The dirty face was still there, though, and he sheepishly remembered that was thanks to him. “Gods, you’re grown,” he said.

She huffed a laugh. “So have you.”

He felt giddy with happiness. It was so unfamiliar. “You’re taller than me,” he pointed out. “As the eldest, I take offense at that.” She laughed again, so he’d achieved his purpose.

“Stronger too,” she said, her voice teasing.

“Oh, are you sure?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Oh, I’m sure.” She leapt over to him and hugged him again, not holding back her strength. “I’ve missed you so much, big brother” she said, voice small.

Grif’s heart hurt, but for once it was in a good way. “I missed you too, little one.” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. He’d never found it so difficult to get it together, but this was too much, if in the best possible way. “I thought— I always believed you were still alive and I’d find you. But it was… Well. It was taking a while, and sometimes I thought… It doesn’t matter now.” He shook himself, knowing he had to go back to reality. And that in that reality, he was a wanted fugitive. “Listen, I wish we could stay here and talk for a year, but I’m on the run. Something happened when I arrived and—”

She nodded. “So that was you everyone was talking about! I did hear that—” She abruptly stopped talking.

He stared at her. “What?”

“Dex… I heard that a pirate killed three sailors today,” she said somberly.

Grif felt her words like a punch to the gut —did his own sister really think he was a murderer? But then he realized, she had no way of knowing, did she? They hadn’t spoken in eight years, and they were just children when they had been separated. She didn’t know him, he thought bitterly, just as he didn’t know her.

Well, they could start knowing each other right now. “That’s not true.” He shook his head. He didn’t find much use in sincerity these days, but with her, he'd always make an exception. “I didn’t kill anyone, Kai.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed and offended. “I know that!”

Grif blinked, taken aback. He still had to ask, hating how small his voice sounded to his ears, “So you don’t think I did it?”

Her eyes and voice were infused with outraged certainty. “Of course not! You would never do that!” Grif let out a relieved breath. “I just brought it up because it means that a lot of people are very eager to go after you, since they do believe this stupid rumor!”

He tried to keep his face blank, but couldn’t contain a little smile at her reaction. “It’s fine, believe me, I’m used to it. And well, this does look like the most boring port I’ve been to. I imagine it’s the juiciest gossip they’ve had in months, so who cares if it actually happened?”

“Gods, yes. The things people say. Oh,” Kai was smiling now, “I also heard that you threatened the Governor’s son in front of his father, the Commodore, and an entire squad!”

Grif’s expression faltered. “I, uh…”

The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “Dex,” she said in a low voice.

Grif held up a hand to the level of his eyes. “This tall, on the scrawny side, red hair, lots of freckles…?”

“Dex,” she said again, slowly, “did you threaten Simmons?”

He hesitated. “…Only a little.”

He wasn’t expecting the sword to swing in his direction again, the flat of the blade hitting him square in the head. “Ow! Kai!” He rubbed at the spot.

“How could you!?” she yelled. “In what possible situation could you have needed to do that? He can’t hurt a fly! He’s the most harmless person you could ever meet!”

“Well, I needed to escape, and he was right there, and—!”

“I don’t care! He’s my—!” She cut herself off sharply, suddenly looking… ashamed?

Grif felt his stomach churn uneasily. “Oh, gods, don’t tell me he’s your fiancé…”

She made a face. “No, of course not! He’s my friend!”

His shoulders sagged in relief. “Oh, good.” He didn’t think he was prepared to find his sister and meet her lover all in the same day. “But I promise you, I wasn’t going to hurt him,” he said to try and placate her.

“Well, he didn’t know that, did he!”

“That is sort of the point of threatening someone, yes.” She raised the sword again and he hastened to add, “Sorry! I won’t do it again, alright?”

Kai huffed, but lowered the blade, which Grif counted as a victory.

He realized something, then. “Is he that close to you? Is that why you gave him your medallion?”

Kai blinked, and her expression did something strange. “Simmons has my medallion?”

“You didn’t know?” Grif frowned.

Kai’s eyes were wide now. She looked struck with surprise. “No, I… I thought I’d lost it at the shipwreck. I never thought— Why would he—” Grif’s curiosity was only rising, but before he could ask, she vigorously shook her head. “That’s… I have to talk to him.” She eyed Grif, and her tone changed from shocked to peeved, again. “But I’ll probably have to go alone, since a certain someone thought the best way to introduce himself was by threatening him.”

Grif felt a little offended. “Well, I also saved his life! I bet that rumor didn’t travel!”

“You did?” she looked worried. “Is he okay?”

Grif was about to reply when he heard a familiar racket, and he took a few silent steps to look out through one of the slits of the door. The Navy, again. He honestly thought they were blowing it all out of proportion, and he was beginning to get exasperated. Really, he’d only threatened one person since arriving here. After he’d saved them. Didn’t those two things cancel each other out?

Maybe it was because that person was related to the Governor, who had certainly not looked like an understanding man. He wouldn’t put it past him to actually set a prize on his head for whomever delivered him to the cells. Past either of them, actually, he thought as he recalled Simmons’ behavior. Friends with Kai or not, the young redhead did strike him as the petty kind.

And as the potentially fun kind as well. Grif wasn’t lying when he'd said he enjoyed a good battle.

Well, whatever the reason, he was still in big trouble. “We can't stay here. We’ll have more time to talk later,” he promised, “but right now, they’re after me. We need to leave or we’ll get caught.”

Kai frowned, but then smirked. “You mean, you’ll get caught.”

Grif blinked, a little hurt. “Well, I guess so…”

She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. Here, you are a wanted pirate, but I’m completely trusted. I’ve lived in Armonia for years, everybody knows me, and they have no reason to suspect me.” She bent and picked up her discarded sword again. “Listen, if we run together and they catch us, we’ll both end up in the cells, and we’ll both hang. So here’s what I’m going to say. We fought and I beat you —that isn’t even a lie! But we’ll pretend we don’t know each other. They’ll lock you up so they can judge you. And then,” her tone was guileless and bright, “the earliest chance I get, I break you out!”

That plan seemed much too naïve and simple, and in Grif’s experience those rarely worked. “Kai…”

She looked him in the eyes, her own big and excited. This was an adventure to her, he realized, probably the first one in a long time. “Trust me,” she said.

Grif sighed and nodded. “Fine.” He still added, “But I don’t like letting you out of my sight again.”

She smiled widely. “You’re insane if you think I’m going to let that stand. You and I aren’t going to spend another day apart, ever. I’m coming for you. Tonight.”

Grif couldn’t help but smile back at her confidence. “Alright.”

He hugged her again tightly, and stepped away from the door, holding his hands up. Kai pointed her sword at him and, opening the door, bellowed, “Here! The pirate’s here! Come quickly!”

After a few seconds, Grif found himself once again surrounded by redcoats and pistols. The Commodore walked in, and now, Grif didn’t usually waste energy in hating people, but this man was definitely earning it. “Well, well,” he said, his smirk wilder than the last time he’d seen him, “look who it is.”

“Commodore,” Grif mock saluted. “I hope you didn’t have to miss the rest of the party because of me. It looked fancy.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I just explained that I found myself otherwise occupied,” the uniformed man markedly enunciated. As he turned to Kai, there was an impressed glint in his eyes. “Kaikaina, I knew you were an accomplished swordswoman, but this is some exemplary work! You’ve just aided us in capturing a dangerous pirate!”

“Thank you. It was easy.” She looked at Grif and smirked at him, a gesture he really wanted to mirror. That little... “You’ll take him to the cells?”

The Commodore nodded. “Of course. And I can assure you, he won’t be getting away this time.”

When two sailors advanced to grab Grif and haul him out, he didn’t resist. As hard as it was, he didn’t turn to look at Kai as he was led away, knowing that letting anyone suspect their connection would only put her in peril, but he swore he could feel how her eyes stayed on him.

Grif didn’t consider himself a man who had faith in anything, but hell, he’d been looking for her for years. He could trust that she’d come looking for him tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something tells me 'tonight' is gonna be a busy night for several people...
> 
> I'm truly sorry that Kai and Grif didn’t get to speak more, but their past is a big part of the fic’s backstory, so a lot of stuff about it can’t be revealed yet.


	8. The Escape

Kai may have been done with her work for the day, but she could not go home.

After delivering Dex to the authorities, she’d stood there for a few minutes, just looking at the closed door. _I’m coming for you. Tonight_. She’d meant it, had been confident when she’d said those words to him, but now, alone, she felt as if a gaping hole was eating up all her courage from the inside. 

She knew everybody in this town, but she could not ask for anyone’s help right now. The common folk would never help out a pirate here, nor would they want to be associated with anybody who did. The Commodore loathed them, so it would be useless to ask him for leniency. And Simmons…

Her head was still spinning at the revelation that Simmons, her Simmons, had the medallion and everything that meant, but she had more pressing matters at the moment. Right now, her brother was locked up, and given how quickly and ruthlessly justice worked around these parts, they may well hang him the very next morning. Meanwhile, Simmons had had the medallion for years —and by the gods, did that thought unforgivingly beat against her skull as she struggled not to dwell on it, not now, _not now_ —, and if the Wraith had not come looking for it in all that time, they were not likely do so this day. Dex could not wait. Simmons could.

She’d never been good at thinking clinically, but she had to focus and push aside all feelings about her discovery for now. Tomorrow, she decided, she’d go see Simmons, and then they would have a long talk.

Tonight, she had to save her brother from prison.

Making a big effort to clear everything else from her mind, she shook herself and went back to her options. Simmons had never gone against the law in any way, and she could not imagine him doing so even if he wanted to, which would be unlikely in this case, considering his sole experience with Dex. And even if she could go and ask him for help, she could not let herself do it. She knew that if she went to see him right now, she would not resist asking him about the medallion, and that… would take up too much time.

She’d have to solve this alone.

But she had never done something like this. Despite her casual disregard for the rules, she had never broken the law in such a way. She knew —hoped— that it was the best plan, but what if it went wrong? What if she couldn’t get Dex out, or if they both got caught? Her hand rose to her neck, almost picturing the rope around it. Foster daughter of the Governor or not, she knew the man couldn’t care less about her, and as much as Simmons would beg and plead on her behalf —and even if she managed to convince him that Dex was good, so that he’d intercede for him too— she knew he had no influence on his father.

Her throat tightened as she imagined seeing Dex walking to the gallows. Would it feel the same way as it had when she’d thought him dead, drowned or murdered by the pirates, eight years ago? Would the desolation be of a different flavor if she saw it happen, instead of trying to avoid imagining it, as she had been doing every day since then? It surely would be worse, and her only consolation would be that she would not live to experience it for too long after.

No. No, she hadn’t found him again just to see him die before her eyes. If she was successful, they could be a family again. And if she was not… well, if they had to leave this world, they’d do so together.

Without any more delay, Kai locked the door of the forge and began to plan for the night.

 

* * *

 

Once she’d gone over the plan for one last time and briefly spared a thought for poor Mr. Randall, who’d find his workplace like a hurricane had gone through it in the morning, she was all set to go.

The night was silent when she stepped out of the forge, so she walked slowly towards the docks, taking care not to make any noise. Given both her odd, constantly changing working hours, and her latest penchant for nighttime adventures —though they had been of a very different kind—, it was not necessarily strange for her to be out and about at this hour, but she knew that being seen tonight might compromise her once she freed Dex. She had to avoid suspicion. That was essential.

As she neared the docks, she spied a couple of sailors on patrol. The only light close by was that of the lantern they were carrying, as there was no need for more, with the docks being empty. She looked up at the fort, where a few fires shone, useless and dangerous to her quest. It would’ve been easier with a lantern of her own, but that would certainly attract the Navy’s attention.

Kai waited until the sailors on duty left the docks to silently make her way to one of the piers, where she knew the smallest, humblest boats were. She had to wait a while for her eyes to grow accustomed to the dark —the moon couldn’t help right now, hidden behind clouds. It seemed a storm was brewing— , but finally, she could make out enough to continue.

She breathed in, deeply, and reminded herself that she had to do this, that she knew how to do this, that nothing would happen. She set foot into one of the boats, untied the old rope that kept it moored, and took it into the sea.

For a few minutes, she rowed slowly, just in case any splashing might be heard from land. Her arms pulsated —she’d spent the whole day carrying boxes and packages, not to mention having a spirited sword fight— but she didn’t stop. Once she judged she’d brought the ship far enough, she left the oars in it, took a deep breath once again, and lowered herself into the water, keeping one hand around the wooden edge.

She sank in the water and for a moment, all the felt was panic. She knew how to swim, just as she knew how to sail, but she hadn’t done it in years. She hadn’t been able to. The memory of the shipwreck had come to her, unbidden, every time she’d tried, the shouting, her brother’s hand slipping from hers, the freezing water lapping at her legs…

Kai fought to control her breathing, tried to focus on staying afloat. It wasn’t happening again, she had to remember that. There was no danger, the water was warm, and she was going to save her brother. She had a chance to fix things. She could get back what that shipwreck had taken from her.

After one, two minutes spent calming herself down, just floating, testing that she could, she let go of the boat, giving it a final push towards the open sea, and prayed it would not be returned to shore anytime soon.

Now, back to Armonia. Luckily, she needn’t be afraid of getting lost, thanks to the few lights that set the town apart from the rest of the black horizon. Still ignoring her sore arms, she began swimming towards the island.

She reached the beach feeling exhausted, but with a strange, new calm warmly rooted inside.

Having wrung out her hair and clothes to keep them from dripping, she headed back to town, this time in a different direction. She encountered no guards, although the fort was always vigilant overhead. Luckily, the chandler’s was close enough to the cell block for her idea to work without waking anyone up. Probably.

Entering the house in silence, she opened the cabinet and grabbed a candle, hoping they would not miss it in the morning as she lit it. With slow movements and a hand in front of the flame so that it would not go out, she walked the few steps that separated the chandler’s house from his neighbor’s small pen. When she withdrew her palm, the hens, previously asleep, nervously flapped their wings around. Kai opened the little door, and the birds, trying to get away from the flame, ran out of the pen, clucking and stumbling into each other in their haste. She followed, making sure that they didn’t stray from the clear path into the square where the entrance to the cell block was.

Hidden in the shadows, Kai watched with no shortage of mirth as the bewildered sailor that was guarding the prison spotted the running, noisy line of fugitive chickens. She saw her turn back towards the cell block, then back at the flock, clearly conflicted. She was young, and must have been sternly ordered to watch access to the prisoner, but the prospect of waking up the entire town with a bunch of chickens was surely too embarrassing. As Kai had hoped, after checking that she had the keys to the cells, the girl left her post and went in pursuit of the hens. Just as she disappeared from view, Kai moved.

Sword at the ready and prepared for anything, she swung the door open and walked down to the prison, only to find a deserted hallway only inhabited by two benches and a solitary desk, a set of empty cells, and her brother whistling and waving at the unmoving keeper of the keys.

“Come on. Come on, good boy. A bit closer…”he trailed off as she reached the bottom of the stairs, looking sheepish as she stared at him.

Torn between amusement and irritation —had he really held no faith in her saving him?—, she glanced at the pup, which was sitting on the floor wagging its tail with the keys in its mouth, and sent a pitying look at her brother. “Dex, the dog is never going to move.”

He raised his hands in the air, managing to speak in a low voice as well. “Well, excuse me if I haven't resigned myself to the gallows just yet!”

Kai frowned as she sheathed her blade. “Oh, don’t be so overdramatic, I can get you out of here.”

Just as she said that, the dog trotted away. Dex looked exasperated. “How’s that? The key’s run off.”

She clicked her tongue. “I helped build these cells. These are half pin-barrel hinges.” As she spoke, she picked up one of the benches in the hallway and placed it at the bottom of the cell door, setting its base between two of the bars. “With the right leverage and the proper application of strength… the door will lift free.” Using all her strength, she pushed down on the bench. The door rose from its hinges, and then fell forwards, but Kai held it up and kept it from crashing down on the floor. “Yes! Come on.”

Dex was looking at her with curiosity when he stepped out of the cell. “Fencing, blacksmithing… you’ve certainly led an interesting life, haven’t you?”

Kai could feel a wide smile forming on her face. “You could say that. I’ll tell you all about it at some point. But now, we should go.” She suddenly noticed something. “Where’s your medallion?”

“One of the sailors took it from me when they locked me up here, along with the rest of my effects,” he answered, in a tone that made it clear he wanted them back.

She sighed. “Right. Go on, then.”

Her brother took his hat, which was hanging from a nail in the wall, then approached the desk and began rummaging through the drawers. He took out his bandolier and his weapons, but nothing else. “Where’s the gold?” His frown deepened. “Oh, that idiot. He must’ve put it somewhere else.” His expression changed then, turning considering. “Which… actually isn’t bad. Let’s go.”

Kai blinked. “Didn’t you want it back?”

Dex made a dismissive gesture as he began to furnish himself. “Force of habit. Look, for years, that medallion was the only thing that…” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Point is, now we’re back together, and the gold should be as far away from us as possible. You know who’s after it, and they’ll stop at nothing to get it. If we leave it here, it can’t lead them to us.”

“Wait,” she said. “We should get rid of the gold, that’s for certain, but we can’t just leave it here with the sailors.”

Dex shrugged. “Poor sods. Not our problem, though.”

“So what, we also let Simmons keep mine so that they can trace it back to him?” she asked, outraged, struggling to keep her voice down. Her brother sighed, but didn’t argue further. “I’m not leaving the medallions here so that the Wraith has an excuse to sack the island. We get them, we take them with us, and then we throw them into the ocean,” Kai said firmly.

After a few moments, Dex nodded. “Fine. Let’s head to the Governor’s manor, we’ll—”

“Not tonight.” At his raised eyebrow, Kai scrambled for an explanation that she couldn’t fully give, and finally settled on one that wasn’t a lie. “It’s late, you can’t be seen there, and… I really need to talk with Simmons about the medallion.” She pulled out her sword again and headed to the stairs. “We sleep here in Armonia, and we leave tomorrow. I untied a boat from the docks before coming, so when they find the empty cell, everybody will expect you to have left the island during the night. And when they discover one boat’s missing, they will think you have for sure!”

Dex blinked. “You know, I know I said your last plan was much too simple, but I really think you went overboard with complications for this one.”

And he didn’t know the half of it, Kai thought, but clicked her tongue. “Shut it. Let’s just leave already.”

“Where are we going to sleep, anyway?”

“I’ve already looked into it. The printer’s. Her daughter’s getting married in London, so it’s closed because they’re all out of town for the wedding. A pity, too, she is very pretty… Anyway, I know where they keep the key, and no one will bother us there. It’s the last place where anyone would think to look for a runaway pirate.”

As they began to climb up the stairs, Dex murmured, “We really should leave as soon as possible. Kai…”

She turned sharply to face him, choked up with all the reasons why she couldn’t just up and leave that she couldn’t tell him. “The gold has probably been here for years, and they haven’t shown up! Why would they come now? Tell me, is there any reason why they might suspect it’s in Armonia?”

“Not that I can think of, but sooner or later, they will find it.”

She bit her lip. “One more day, Dex, that’s all I’m asking for.” He looked like he wanted to argue further, but to her relief, he relented.

They exited the cell block in silence, watching out for any guards, but there were none on sight. That poor girl was probably still trying to gather the chickens. Taking Dex’s hand, Kai pulled him towards one of the narrowest streets, making sure to remain close to the walls. If they stuck to the shadows and were careful, they should reach the house without any trouble.

Not five seconds after that thought had crossed her mind, she spotted two dark figures near the cells.

Her whole body froze, and she could feel her brother pause as well. If they remained still, they were hidden in the darkness —thank the gods, the night was still too cloudy for any moonlight to sneak down and reveal them—, but they couldn’t risk making any noise. At least the two strangers didn’t seem to carry a lantern either.

The figures approached the building they had so recently left, and Kai’s breathing sped up as they began to descend the stairs to the cells.

The moment they disappeared through the doorframe, she squeezed Dex’s hand with all the urgency she could not voice. When he turned to look at her, she silently indicated that they should go on. Dex hesitated, but complied after a moment.

As they kept walking, Kai could feel the blood thumping in her ears. She wanted to run, but that might attract unwanted attention. She wanted to close her eyes, as if that would make the situation less real. Any minute now, whoever that was would realize that Dex was missing and sound the alarm and they would be chased and caught and—

But nothing happened.

She panted, surprised, and exchanged a look with her brother. It had been a few minutes now. Those people must have seen the broken cell door, the empty prison. Why had they not done anything? Dex was frowning. “Something isn’t adding up,” he murmured.

Kai privately agreed, but couldn’t begrudge what seemed like, for once, good luck. She practically dragged him away, whispering urgently. “Whoever that was, it doesn’t matter! We have a chance. Come on!”

They advanced in the dark, Kai keeping her right hand on the wall to keep track of the path, the other firmly holding Dex’s. They were next to the tavern, so only two blocks away now, they just had to turn and—

The sound of footsteps echoed down the street.

A hand fell on her shoulder and Dex, quick as lightning, dragged her to crouch down behind a few stacked barrels. Listening carefully, she could distinguish two pairs of boots. Were those the same people from the cells? Had they come after them? Kai gripped her sword tightly. Glancing over, she saw Dex doing the same. She didn’t want to hurt anybody, and prayed that they wouldn’t be seen, but if she had to choose between that and letting them take her brother…

As the two people neared their hiding spot, she heard their voices, though she didn’t dare take a peek.

“…I’m telling you, Bitters, I saw something weird in the water today! Two weird somethings, actually—”

“Yes, I know, Matthews, just like you saw that mermaid last year.”

“I did see it! And it was a mer _man_ , by the way. If you’re going to mock my supernatural beliefs, at least try to be accurate about them.”

“Ugh, I swear, three times now, I’ve asked to be assigned a different partner, and I’m still…” The sailors’ voices sounded close as they went past their hiding place without spotting them, and they hushed down as they walked on along the street.

Once everything was quiet again, Kai turned to signal that they could go on, only to meet Dex’s slightly amused expression. “What is it?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “Nothing, let’s move.”

With cautious, silent steps, they set towards the printer’s again, not letting go of each other’s hands until they reached their destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we get our first Kai P.O.V.! While the majority of chapters will be from Simmons' perspective (because of story reasons), there'll be some more from Kai's and Grif's as well.
> 
> This is another one of those chapters that I conceived as a short scene, and now it's the longest one yet. Here we are. This AU keeps growing and growing and there's still so much left. It's a sea monster. Help me.


	9. Time to Go

Although the Commodore had already designated a squad for Simmons’ protection, one of his sailors —the one who had covered him with her own red coat, Lieutenant Jensen, as she’d enthusiastically introduced herself— had insisted on escorting him home personally as well.

Under different circumstances, Simmons might have resisted, usually uncomfortable with people he didn’t know well. But he accepted the company, since he could not deny that he was still feeling shaken, and there was nothing he wanted less than having to talk to his father or Sarge again today.

“It must’ve been a difficult day for you, sir,” she said kindly as they walked towards the mansion. She had insisted that he could keep her coat on for as long as he needed it, which Simmons was thankful for, given the change in the weather and the state of his clothes.

Simmons took a deep breath. He would rarely speak to anyone other than Kai about personal matters, but the Lieutenant was merely trying to be nice, and Kai was not here. “I knew the Commodore would propose, I just— I must admit, I wasn’t… entirely prepared for it.”

Jensen looked at him funny. “...I meant you being threatened by that pirate. It must’ve been terrifying!”

“Oh,” Simmons said. “Yes. It was terrifying.”

“But congratulations on your engagement!” she said brightly.

Simmons shook his head, feeling a lump form in his throat. He couldn’t talk about that, not yet. He needed Kai. But right now, he could only distract Jensen from the subject. “Do you think you’ll catch him?”

Jensen looked dubious. “Well, sir, usually I’d say yes. But he was fast, and we’ve found no sign of him at all... So… I am sorry to say, I don’t know if we’ll get him,” she quietly admitted.

Simmons didn’t know, either. The shots had pierced the water as soon as Simmons was out of the way, but Grif did not resurface. Neither did any blood, however. The Navy had organized a manhunt immediately, but he wasn't sure if they would be successful, given that he could be anywhere...

The sailor seemed to notice his musings, as she added in a reassuring voice, “But you needn’t be worried, sir! We’ll try our best. And he could’ve left the island already. Though the Commodore seems convinced that he’s still around...”

They reached the entrance of the mansion, finally, and Simmons returned the red coat to its owner with a shy smile. After Jensen dutifully —if clumsily— saluted and left for the fort, Simmons entered the house and walked alone upstairs, lost in thought.

The manor was in almost complete silence, only broken by the soft noises of the servants going about their last chores for the day. He could hear Mintonette humming what was most likely a crude sea shanty in the kitchen, and the sounds of someone sweeping.

He closed the door to his room and prepared for bed, almost mechanically. He removed his shoes, stockings and breeches, leaving only his undergarments on. Even knowing that Kai would come to see him, he could not bring himself to wait for her properly dressed —the memory of the suffocating waistcoat was still fresh enough that he wished to be as comfortable as possible. He would simply throw on a robe once she arrived.

After removing his torn shirt, his hand found the medallion, his fingertips tingling as they grazed its rough engravings. The pirate had asked him about it, he recalled. Could he have recognized it? Or was it just a trinket he had in his sights to steal?

Either way, it didn’t matter. Simmons had seen the look on his face. He wanted it.

Throwing on a clean —and whole— shirt, he rose from the bed and looked out the window, still holding the ornament in his hand. The town was dark, only a few lights twinkling in the distance, and with the exception of a few sailors keeping watch around the house, there was no one to be seen nearby.

He was still out there, he had to be.

Simmons did have to wonder whether it was right to feel something other than trepidation at the thought.

In spite of himself, he remembered Grif’s breath on his neck, his obnoxious smile, his dark eyes fixed on him. His warm hands under Simmons’ trembling ones. How very close he had been.

He might’ve stolen a kiss or two, his mind murmured traitorously.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he chastised himself, flushed, and went to get a book.

 

* * *

 

Simmons woke up with a start, not knowing what had roused him.

He blinked, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. The candle he’d lit before was still burning, bathing the silent room in a soft orange glow. He’d meant to stay up reading to wait for Kai, but he must have dozed off at some point.

The book was resting on the mattress, but Kai was not in the room, nor was there any sign of her at all. Simmons wondered whether she had come and, finding him asleep, had gone to bed herself. But if she had, he reasoned, she likely would’ve killed the candle.

She’d said she would come home tonight.

Simmons tried to shake off the sense of unease that had begun to grow in his stomach. Kai’s errands had probably run late and she had been too tired to walk all the way to the manor, possibly choosing to stay at the bakery, or at the forge, or at any of the houses at her disposal. Or perhaps she had found company for the night. It was certainly not the first time it had happened. She was simply sleeping somewhere else and had not warned him, that was all.

He blew out the candle and laid back in bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark.

After a few seconds, he kicked off the sheets and put on a dressing gown, mumbling under his breath. He would check Kai’s room, she would be there, and that would be it. And if she was not, he would ask a servant, or perhaps one of the sailors keeping watch outside, if they’d seen her come home, or if she had sent a message. The scullery maid, Mintonette, would be the most likely to know anything. She and Kai had always seemed to like each other, even if Kai used to tease her about a supposed infatuation with Simmons that he sincerely hoped was nonexistent.

The door to Kai’s room, just in front of Simmons’, was ajar, the chamber dark. He peeked inside. It was empty.

Anxiousness on the rise, he turned towards the staircase with the intention of seeking the maid, when he heard someone knock on the door.

He froze. He knew that the guards were outside, and just a few seconds ago, he had meant to go out of the house if it came to that, but now everything in him was screaming that he should not open that door. He stood at the top of the stairs for a few seconds, as quiet as he could, straining to hear any noise, but whoever it was, they did not try again. He sighed in relief and began descending, intent on going back to his quest, and as he reached the bottom of the staircase, saw the butler opening the door.

“Don’t!” he shouted, but it was too late.

Just outside his house stood two people, a man and a woman, both muscular and blonde. “Good evening,” the man said. The woman raised a gun and a single shot rang out, deafening in the silence of the night.

Simmons’ yell was stifled by his hand as the butler’s body fell to the floor, a bleeding hole in his head. Voice lost after that, all Simmons could do was stare wide-eyed at the two strangers as they stepped over the man’s corpse without even sparing it a passing glance. They were now staring right at him, but for some reason, they paused, their expressions turning faintly puzzled, and exchanged a look between them. This incongruous behavior gave him a few seconds, and he somehow regained control over his own body and ran up the stairs.

“Well, that’s just perfect.” Simmons could hear the man’s voice below as he frantically tried to think of what to do. “You heard the orders, South. Quick and clean, in and out, and back to the ship. It’s a kidnapping, not a war.”

“Right,” the woman sounded dismissive. “So I’m just supposed to let you have all the fun? You got to kill everybody else!”

“Yes, and I did so quietly, as instructed.”

Simmons couldn’t focus. The image of the dead man downstairs blocked every other thought and he had to make an effort to banish it from his mind for now. They had surely killed the sailors outside, too. He couldn’t flee the house through the door. And the rest of the servants, were they in danger? They must have heard the shot. Would it be possible to escape through a window? No, too high up. He began running towards his room, then stopped short. That would be too obvious. Kai’s was too close, and oh, thank god that Kai wasn’t home, nor was his father. The Governor’s study was always locked. Where could he go?

The strangers’ conversation continued below. “Ugh. Spare me the lesson, North, I’ll get it from the Captain as well. And my way is faster than yours.” The woman seemed to tire of the argument, as he heard her walking up the stairs.

Horror must have spurred Simmons’ brain on, providing him with an option. The sitting room.

“At least I didn’t attract the attention of the whole town to the mansion, as your shot probably did just now,” the man was clearly following suit.

“Then maybe you should stop lecturing me and get the boy, no?” she snarled.

Simmons, already racing towards his destination, couldn’t hear the man’s reply. He entered the room and, after closing the door as quietly and quickly as he could, looked around. There, above the fireplace, an ornament with two crossed swords hung on the wall. He rushed to it, grabbed one of the hilts, and pulled on it as forcefully as he could.

The wooden piece dislodged itself from the wall, and it was only through sheer luck that Simmons, repressing a yelp, managed to keep it from crashing on the floor. He shook the weapon again, but to no use— the two swords were securely attached to the piece and would not part from it. He barely kept himself from cursing under his breath.

Abandoning the swords, he opened the window. There, a distraction. He prayed that it would work. Then, he opened the tableware closet, and hid inside it, shaking.

A second later, the door to the room opened. Through the narrow slit he’d left open between the closet doors, Simmons could see them enter. They must have procured a candle from one of the chandeliers, and its small flame illuminated them while also making shadows dance strangely on their faces.

“We know you're here, boy,” the male voice said, in a tone that Simmons supposed was trying to be reassuring and failing. “Come out, and we promise we won't hurt you.”

There was a short, breathy laugh at that. “Speak for yourself, North. I’m willing to hurt plenty.” Simmons tried to control his agitated breathing as he listened to her slow steps. “We will find you, boy... You've got something of ours, and it calls to us!” The woman’s malicious voice sounded closer and closer. “The gold calls to us!”

Simmons felt a cold chill run up his spine as he looked down to find the medallion hanging from his neck.

He’d kept it on, he now realized. Even if he’d known the pirate would come to steal it. The smart thing would’ve been to give it to the Navy, put it safely away, hide it as far from himself as possible. Throw it away, let it sink into the ocean, he thought in a panic.

But he hadn’t told anyone, hadn’t even tried to get rid of it. Had never taken it off, had worn it throughout the night instead, and now—

A shadow fell upon the gold, and he lifted his gaze to find a pale grey eye observing him through the slit of the closet doors. “Hello, boy.”

The doors opened.

“Parley!” Simmons blurted out. 

That seemed to give the pirates pause again. “…What,” the woman asked flatly.

“Parley! I invoke the right of parley! According to the Code of the Brethren, set down by the pirates Morgan and Turf, you must take me to your Captain!” Simmons recited, as fast as he was able, so as to not lose his nerve to speak.

“I know the code,” she growled.

Simmons swallowed, feeling a little more confident. “If an adversary demands parley, you can do them no harm until the parley is complete.”

The man looked amused. “Well, then.”

His companion glared at him. “You can’t be serious. Are we really going along with this?”

He shrugged. “Why ever not? He wants to be taken to the Captain. That’s close enough to what we were here for. As close as we are going to get, anyway.”

“Fine. Time to go, boy,” she growled, yanking at Simmons’ hair to bring him out of his hiding place as he moaned in protest. “I’m going to enjoy parading you all around Armonia.”

The man sighed. “Dragging someone through town kicking and screaming isn’t exactly ideal, South. Stealth, remember? That usually requires silence and discretion.”

The woman’s smile reminded Simmons of a white shark, all sharp teeth. “Works for me.” Her fist flying towards his face was the last thing he saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Simmons' terrible, horrible, no good, very bad night begins.
> 
> On a more humorous note: please google Mintonette. Please do it. Right now. And then you’ll see which character she’s supposed to be. Do it. Do it now.


	10. Welcome Aboard the Wraith

Simmons awoke to a rocking sensation and the smell of saltpeter.

Disoriented, he sat up, brushing his aching jaw, only to find himself face to face with a man he vaguely recognized. “Welcome back,” he said pleasantly, and all the memories from tonight came rushing back to Simmons.

He looked around, panicked —he was on a small boat, in the middle of a dark sea. In the distance, only a few lights helped him pinpoint the location of Armonia.

He had to go back. He moved to the edge of the boat—

The mans’ arms were around his shoulders in a moment, pulling him backwards and keeping him aboard. “Easy, now. We’re almost there.”

“You’re going to meet the Captain. It’s what you asked for, isn’t it, boy?” a female voice said mockingly near them. Simmons turned his head to see the woman responsible for said aching jaw, who was looking at him with contempt as she rowed the boat towards…

Simmons’ breath caught in his throat.

A gigantic ship loomed before him, its silhouette dark and threatening against the cloudy sky. Not a sound could be heard from it, nor could he spot anyone on board, and only a few dots of light could be seen on deck to guide their boat back to it.

Its sails were black.

Simmons struggled, trying to escape the boat once again, but the man’s grip tightened painfully and he remained where he was, restrained.

“It’ll be easier if you don’t resist. I believe you’ve seen that by now,” his captor said in a low, helpful voice at odds with his unforgiving hold. Simmons whimpered in pain, but complied. The man did not release him, although he did loosen his grasp a little.

Once their small boat reached its majestic parent, the woman stood up and began manipulating the lines, tying them in a complicated knot. With a shake, the boat began to rise above the water, pulled up by someone overhead that Simmons couldn’t see.

With bated breath, Simmons could only look on as he was introduced to the most fearsome ship in the Caribbean.

He’d heard a thousand stories, of course. Everyone had heard stories about the Wraith. Its very name was enough to make the most experienced sailor tremble, and its history was not any more reassuring. It had been attacking ships for years, whether merchant or royal, big or small, and had sacked many port towns. It was swift, silent, unbeatable. And it never left any survivors.

It was doubtlessly an implacable ship with a ruthless crew, but over time, the truth had become mixed with the fantastic, to the point where it was hard to tell which stories were authentic, and which were not. Simmons had even heard whispered tales about how a terrible curse laid upon the ship, that its captain was the devil himself, and that it was crewed by the undead. The ship’s name seemed quite fitting, indeed, if that last one was the case.

Granted, Simmons had never believed those ludicrous rumors —sailors were a superstitious lot, and who could blame them for attributing supernatural qualities to such a formidable enemy—, but he had always found them pleasantly thrilling. He’d imagined seeing the Wraith, maybe even boarding it, only in his secret, imaginary adventures. In the safety of his room, tucked in a warm bed and surrounded by lit candles, the fantasy had been fun, exciting.

Now, he had to imagine no more, but all he felt was keen awe and numbing fear. None of the stories had prepared him to look upon it tonight.

As the boat was raised, the Wraith’s imposing belly gave way to its surface. Four people stood near the rail, two on each side of the small vessel, still clutching the thick ropes they’d been pulling. While they tied strong knots to secure them, Simmons’ eyes roamed over the ship.

Given that the clouds concealed any light from the moon or the stars, a few more lanterns had been lit since they were in the water, just enough to see. At first, Simmons thought that himself, his two captors, and the four manipulating the ropes were the only people there, but he realized with dread that the closer he looked, the more certain shadows seemed to move, a plethora of dark figures slowly drawing closer.

He gulped and found he couldn’t move a muscle, even when he realized he’d been released at some point. Two of the pirates who had secured the boat approached them: a red-haired woman and a man, the latter with a lantern. The woman, judging by the tension in her jaw as she glared at Simmons, was furious, which made him want to draw back even more. As for the man, although he nodded agreeably to his two crewmates, he seemed surprised at spotting him.

“What the fuck were you thinking,” was the first thing the woman demanded, audibly gritting her teeth.

“South, North,” the man greeted in a mellow voice. When he moved his head, Simmons noticed that one of his eyes was blind. “I didn't know we were taking captives at a whim now.”

“We aren’t. This was the task,” South answered acidly, as she jumped from the boat.

The redhead scoffed, shaking her head, while the man raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because I thought you were meant to find someone in particular, and well,” he looked Simmons over as he raised the lantern to see him better, “he doesn’t exactly look the part…?”

“Listen, York—”

“You were supposed to bring back the girl, and no one else. This was _not_ the mission,” the woman spat out, staring South down.

“Shut your mouth, Carolina,” the blonde barked back, then pulled something out of her pocket and practically shoved it in her face.

With a start, Simmons uselessly raised his hand to his neck to find the gold medallion gone. It was now in the pirate’s hand —she must have taken it after knocking him unconscious. He swallowed, trying to constrain the sense of loss that flooded him.

Carolina’s eyes had narrowed, going from the medallion to Simmons and back. “And he had it?”

South didn’t dignify that with an answer, instead disappearing into the nearest cabin with determined strides, taking the jewel with her.

“Well, this is just wonderful,” York muttered dryly as he walked to where Simmons still sat, and then, to his surprise, offered a hand to him.

After a moment’s hesitation, Simmons took it, and the man helped him descend from the boat. If he expected jeers or mockery about his trembling fingers, he met none. Rather, York looked a little grim as he took Simmons near the mast and stepped away.

As Simmons looked back at him pleadingly, dismayed at the retreat of the one person here who had showed him any kindness, he saw that the rest of the crew had gathered around him in complete silence. York came to a stop next to Carolina, whose arms were crossed. She looked less angry, but her expression was still tense.

Simmons swallowed past the lump in his throat —the pirates were keeping their distance, for now at least, but their eyes were fixed on him, and his own uneven breath was the only sound he could hear. He trembled, unfamiliar dread mixing with everyday self-consciousness, and drew his dressing gown tighter around himself trying not to squirm, only half-successfully. Distantly, he heard the gloomy skies rumbling, and realized a storm was on its way.

The door of the cabin opened, and from it emerged the tallest man Simmons had ever seen.

As he was not yet near the influence of a lantern, Simmons could not discern his features, but his figure cut imposing as he drew closer and closer. Simmons didn’t know he had stepped back until he felt the mast behind him and realized he had nowhere to go.

The man stopped right before him, still silent. Now in the dim light, Simmons spied the gold medallion firmly grasped in his hand, and he could also see his eyes. They were grey and impassive, examining him, and Simmons’ blood ran cold at realizing this had to be the commander of the Wraith.

He struggled to find his voice. “C—Captain,” he faltered, but forced himself to continue, “I demand to know—”

With a whistling sound, a knife suddenly flew out of the dark and imbedded itself in the mast, scant inches away from Simmons’ head. This time, he could not help a panicked gasp as he cowered, almost stumbling in his haste to get away from it.

“Shh,” an oily voice seemed to emerge from the darkness. “You don’t interrupt the Captain while he’s thinking, little boy.”

The owner of the voice stepped into the circle, coming to stand behind his commander. He was shorter and leaner, and unlike the Captain’s inscrutable expression, his pale face showed a smirk that only grew in size as he saw how Simmons had reacted to his attack. Simmons noted that he carried a full array of knives in his belt, and that his right hand didn’t stray too far from them. He looked Simmons in the eye and put a finger on his lips, the admonishing gesture almost playful.

The Captain finally spoke, his voice as deep and fear-instilling as Simmons had expected it to be. “I gave very precise orders.” Simmons’ heart sped up even further at his tone, but a thin wave of relief washed upon him as he registered the words and realized he was not the one being addressed. When the Captain turned his head and the light hit him in a different way, Simmons noticed a scar shaped like an ‘X’ across his face. He tried not to imagine the fate of whoever had inflicted it. “They have not been followed. Why?”

The question was clearly directed at both North and South, the latter of whom must have exited the cabin at some point, unseen by Simmons, as she was now standing among the crew. She answered tartly, “We were quick and we found the gold. Those were the orders. Sir.”

His full attention was now on her. “You were ordered to be undetectable. Perhaps you can explain why then, if you were diligent, the Navy is likely preparing to attack us as we speak.”

At his words, Simmons turned towards Armonia. Were its lights more numerous than before? He felt a flash of hope as he thought he heard distant shouting. Perhaps the shot had alerted someone in the town, or a servant must have escaped the manor and reported the pirates’ presence. Either way, the Navy would come for him.

The Captain was still talking. “And I am assuming this lack of tact is what forced you to return here having procured only half of your objective. Where is the girl?”

“If I may, Captain Ortez,” North intervened. “We didn’t manage to find her, but we did find something else.” He put a hand inside his jacket, and pulled out a gold medallion.

Simmons blinked. He stared at North, then at the Captain, thinking that this had to be a trick of the light, a sleight of hand, but no. They were each holding identical medallions.

“Well, isn’t that interesting,” drawled the pale man who had thrown the knife, sounding both irritated and amused. “He was here as well?” He made a disapproving sound. “I told you, we should’ve just killed him. The girl was a safer bet.” Ortez turned to look at him, and the man raised his hands in what Simmons supposed was a deferential gesture. “I’m just saying. We may have all the pieces, but I’ll bet the two birds have flown. Am I wrong?”

Simmons felt confused at everything he was witnessing, but a small trickle of chilling understanding was managing to slowly creep into his mind. Whatever the pirates wanted, it had to do with the medallion, which they had been searching for. And they were looking for someone, too, someone who was not Simmons. A woman who was connected to the gold.

His whole body grew numb with horror as he realized who exactly they were after.

Luckily —if anything could be called such, as things were— his panic at this realization had paralyzed him instead of making him wobble or whimper, so he did not draw attention to himself. As if encased in a bubble, Simmons kept observing the scene taking place in front of him, now seeing North looking uncomfortable.

“We followed the pull to the fort and passed through the cells. They were empty, but someone had recently escaped. The gold was in one of the offices inside, and we found it easily.” He made a pause. “What we weren’t expecting was to sense the other medallion on the island as well. We tracked that one down too, of course. It led us to the Governor’s house, and we found him,” He gestured to Simmons, “wearing the piece. However, due to some, er, unexpected noise, we were forced to make a quick retreat, so we didn’t have time to search the rest of the town. But,” he added, “as we walked back to our boat, we noticed an empty berth in one of the docks. They must’ve taken a ship.”

Ortez nodded slowly. “Unfortunate.” There was a pause. He then turned towards the pale man, who Simmons had guessed must be the first mate, if the overly familiar way he spoke to the Captain was any indication. “They are certainly gone, and for the moment we cannot say to where. It makes no sense for us to remain here any longer. Put out every light and let us disappear. Weigh anchor.”

The bubble burst as Simmons’ anguished mind processed what this meant, and only this sudden comprehension spurred him to speak up again. “I— Wait! You need to take me to shore, I… According to the code—!” 

He broke off as the Captain’s attention shifted to him once more. After a few seconds, during which Simmons feared the worst, Ortez spoke. “Gates,” he said, “show our guest to my cabin. I would have words with him.”

As he turned and walked away, Simmons could not bring himself to fight the hold that the pale man took of his arm, as he may have failed to keep himself upright otherwise.

Gates was still smiling as he blithely announced, “Welcome aboard the Wraith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in next month to see Simmons' night continue to get worse!


	11. Ghost Stories

The blurry lights of Armonia grew smaller and smaller as Simmons looked out the window. Fat droplets of rain had begun to fall on it a while ago, but through the glass, he could see the brief flashes of lightning and hear the low rumble of thunder.

He could not see any ships coming after him.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been here, alone in the Captain’s cabin. He’d been trying his best to control his nerves, but couldn’t help pacing back and forth all over the room, glancing at the door every few seconds in fearful anticipation.

After mockingly bowing, Gates had left him in there, not even bothering to lock the door, and rightly so. Even if Simmons dared open it and get out, he’d have to avoid the crew, steal a boat, and row back home by himself, while trying to outrun the swiftest ship in the Caribbean in the middle of a storm. There was no possible escape for him, and they knew it as well as he did.

Feeling his heart in his throat, he tried to regulate his breathing. If he could not flee, nor fight, and having lost the medallion, he could not negotiate…

Lost in his bustling thoughts, he almost jumped when the door of the cabin opened. To Simmons’ relief, it only revealed York, who was carrying a bundle of clothing.

“The Captain thought you would be more comfortable if you were, well, dressed,” he explained, handing it to him. Simmons took it with caution, but he was grateful. It might be a small thing compared to everything else, but it did help assuage his fears somewhat.

The pirate then lit a few candles, their orange light banishing the gloom that had prevailed in the cabin until then. Though Simmons couldn’t forget his situation, not being in darkness anymore did make it seem less dire, and he breathed a little easier.

“Thank you,” he found his voice in time to say, just as York was leaving. The man gave him a nod, though he did not answer.

Upon finding himself alone again, Simmons examined the offered clothes. There were no undergarments, but he was still wearing his own that he’d incidentally gone to sleep in, in what seemed like another world. No stockings or boots, either, and he must’ve lost his slippers at some point while being brought to the ship. He’d have to remain barefoot for the time being. The breeches and vest were a rich, deep burgundy color, and looked simple but well kept.

He slipped out of his dressing gown and hurriedly put them on. The fabric felt surprisingly soft. He was still feeling far more exposed than he was used to, but the layer of warmth that the clothes added comforted him a little. At least he would no longer have to be in front of dangerous strangers in what amounted to nothing.

He took a few deep breaths and tried to think rationally. If they wanted to kill him, they would’ve done so already. And this offering was proof enough that the Captain did not wish to take any unsavory actions towards him, was it not? They surely knew he was the Governor’s son —maybe they were simply after ransom, and it was in their best interests to keep him safe, then.

And… Captain Ortez had seemed like a calm, reasonable man. Unlike Gates or the two kidnappers, he hadn’t shown any traces of violence. Furthermore, he hadn’t seemed to deal out any punishment for his people, but instead had heard their explanations and coolly responded. He was a practical man, there was no doubt about that. And as far as he knew, everything that linked Simmons to the medallion could have been an unfortunate coincidence. Maybe if Simmons could convince him that he didn’t have anything to do with it, that he knew nothing…

The problem was that that was a lie, Simmons thought as he bit his lips nervously. Gulping, he resolutely tried not to think of what would happen if he was questioned about the gold, or god forbid, about Kai.

He had never been a good liar.

He’d have to try to be.

This time, when the door opened, he focused on staying still and managed to not flinch, to his own surprise. What little confidence he’d managed to amass, however, deflated in no small part when he spotted Gates following behind Ortez. The pale man closed the door and leaned on the wall next to it, silent and somehow appearing both mocking and utterly uninterested.

“Please, sit.” The Captain gestured to one of the exquisitely carved chairs around the table. Simmons did so, as his host took a seat as well. Ortez glanced away for a moment. “Wine?” As he said this, Gates set a bottle and two glasses on the table, then returned to his previous position.

“No, thank you,” Simmons replied. He’d never handled alcohol well, and his nervous stomach would certainly not make things easier now.

The Captain nodded, and his deep grey eyes fixed on him. “You will answer a few questions.” Despite the polite tone, it wasn’t quite a request, Simmons realized, trying not to tremble under the weight of his gaze.

His throat already felt parched. “Of course.”

“What is your name?”

Simmons blinked, taken aback. “You do not know?” They hadn’t been aware of his identity, then. He hesitated. Should he reveal it now? The thought made him queasy, but what else could he do? His relationship to the Governor was the only thing he had that might guarantee his safety, at least the only one he was willing to offer.

He tried not to imagine how his father would react when he received a message demanding ransom for his worthless son, or if he’d even be willing to comply with it, and instead answered, “Richard Simmons. I am the son of Theodore Simmons, Governor of Armonia.”

Ortez’s eyebrows rose slightly. “I see. And why do you think you are here?”

Simmons tried not to stare at him in offended incredulity, the scathing words _Because your two brutes kidnapped me_ on the tip of his tongue. He bit them back.

“I am not sure. Two members of your crew invaded my house and came after me.” _There, just like that_ , he said to himself. If he could avoid outright lies, and instead just offer incomplete truths, he might sound believable. “I had nowhere to go, so I demanded the right of parley with their Captain to ensure they would not harm me.” Not that they had exactly complied, he thought, recalling his aching jaw. “Then they brought me here to you. So, I am assuming that either they were minding the code as I asked them to, or they were simply following your orders to kidnap me from the beginning.”

Ortez shook his head. “Wrong on both accounts,” he said. “You are here only because you were in possession of the gold piece.”

His throat constricted. “I don’t understand,” he forced out.

“Perhaps you do not. We’ll see.” The dark-skinned man minutely leaned forward. “My last question would be why you have it, and what you know about its… rightful owner.”

Simmons’ hands clenched in his lap. “I, um. It is not mine, but I… I don’t know whom it belongs to. I found it about eight months ago, while swimming near—”

He abruptly cut himself off when the Captain rose from his seat. Trying to breathe evenly, he looked up to meet his steely gaze. It gave away nothing.

After a few moments of unbearable silence, Simmons heard himself asking, “What are you going to do with me?” Even to him, his own voice sounded tiny.

The Captain’s face was as inexpressive as his eyes, so it was impossible to tell what he was really thinking. “There would be no sense in killing you.”

“Will you demand ransom from my father, then?”

“No, that is not my intention.”

Simmons swallowed, and tried to sound honest and convincing. “Then release me. You have your trinket, I am of no further value to you.” _I don’t know anything, please believe it_ , he lied desperately in the quiet of his own mind.

Ortez stared at him for a few more seconds before going back to his chair. He produced the medallion from inside his coat, attentively examining Simmons’ face as he did so. “You truly don’t know what this is, do you.”

His tone was more musing than questioning, but Simmons felt it was safer to answer. “A pirate medallion,” he replied, unable to repress the little stubborn curve to his mouth that always made its appearance when he thought someone was questioning his intelligence.

The Captain seemed entirely unaffected by it. “This is Covenant gold. One of 882 identical pieces they delivered in a stone chest to Lord Hargrove himself. Blood money paid to stem the slaughter he wreaked upon them with his sailors.” The low rumble of his voice was strangely entrancing, and the way it melded with the sounds of the storm had Simmons immersed in a daze. “But the greed of Hargrove was insatiable. So the gods placed upon the gold a terrible curse. Anyone who removes but a single piece from that stone chest shall be punished for eternity.”

Ortez’s voice seemed to reach his very core, and Simmons found himself unable to look away from the medallion. The gold glistened under the swaying light of the candles. The skull’s empty eye-sockets seemed to be drawing him in, and he thought that maybe it could be, perhaps it truly was a mystical, cursed object…

Until thunder roared outside, and he came back to his senses. He shook himself, trying to recover a little of the dignity he’d lost in his own eyes. “I hardly believe in ghost stories anymore, Captain Ortez.”

Ortez’s eyes hadn’t moved from his. “That’s exactly what we thought,” he said, tone notably curter. “So we took all the gold, and now we are damned.” He put the medallion away. “I’ll be blunt. We were not after the treasure out of greed, but to break the curse, and now we must find someone who is needed to do that.”

He rose from his seat again, slowly this time. “Listen to me, boy,” he said, his deep voice as steady as before, “I only ask the truth of you. If you lie to me, I will know.” He’d walked around the table as he spoke, and had now positioned himself at Simmons’ back. Simmons’s nails sunk on the wooden chair as he willed his body not to tremble at Ortez’s voice booming overhead. “I will ask you again: tell me how you came in possession of the medallion, everything you know about it, and I will let you go.”

Simmons did not dare ask what he’d do if he refused. He kept his whole body in tension, knowing that if he didn't he’d begin shaking without control. The silence in the room, only broken by the now softer patting of rain —the storm must dying down—, lasted for what seemed like hours.

He knew what he had to do, he just was so very afraid of doing it.

Finally, he was able to bring himself to croak out, “Like I said. I found it. A few months ago. I suppose someone must have lost it at sea, it was half-buried underwater, near the cliffs and—”

Suddenly, his cheek was pressed to the wooden boards of the floor. The blow had been so fast and sharp that he had not even noticed he’d been struck until he was lying prone, breath knocked out of him. He looked up, Captain Ortez’s figure towering over him even higher than before.

There was a resounding, exasperated sigh coming from the door. “Nice try.” Gates was shaking his head at Ortez, looking reproachful. “I told you, you should’ve let the people person handle this. You just can’t sell the ‘You are safe here, I won’t hurt you’ spiel like I can. You’re too terrifying! You just can’t make it work for yourself.”

Simmons felt tears prick his eyes, not just because of the pain but because he now realized that, to some extent, it _had_ been working on him. The candles, the clothes, sending York in, the calm and polite façade —all had been a paper-thin ruse of safety that Simmons had fallen for, because he _wanted_ to feel safe.

“And you.” Simmons lifted his head to find Gates looking down at him. “Well, I don’t have to tell you what your problem is. You’re a terrible liar with a secret. A bad combination.” Gates directed his gaze at his Captain again. “Oh, well,” he said, and smiled in an unpleasant way. “My turn.”

Quick as lightning, Gates lifted Simmons up by the neck and sat him in the chair again, not loosening his fingers around his throat. 

“It’s alright, I’m much better at storytelling, you’ll see,” he was frantically whispering in Simmons’ ear now. “It’s all true. The chest was buried on an Island of Dead that cannot be found, except for those who know where it is. We took all the gold, we spent it on drink, and food, and pleasurable company. But the more we gave away, the more we came to realize… the drink would not satisfy, the food turned to ash in our mouths, and all the pleasurable company in the world could not slake our lust.” Gates brushed cold fingers on his cheek, and Simmons shuddered. Out the corner of his eye, he saw the glint of one of his knives as it reflected the light.

“We are cursed. Compelled by greed, we were, but now we are consumed by it.” Gates let go of his hold, but he remained too close, breath hitting Simmons’ face. His voice was softer now. “There is only one way we can end our curse. All the scattered pieces of the Covenant gold must be restored and the blood repaid. Thanks to you, we have the final pieces.”

Simmons feared the answer, but he could not help but ask. “And the… blood to be repaid?”

“Oh, you needn’t worry. The blood of someone in particular is what we need to sacrifice, yours would not do. But right now, you’re our best bet to find out where that person could be. That’s why there’s no sense to be killing you.” Gates’ smirk seemed to grow even wider. “Yet.”

Simmons couldn’t say where the nerve to do so came from, but he suddenly lunged forward to take one of Gates’ knives from his belt, and to his own shock, managed to grab one.

He’d never been instructed in their use in combat, so he held it as he would have a foil, pointing it at Gates while glancing at the Captain, who was still as a statue. The first mate had barely moved to avoid Simmons’ blade, nonchalantly rising to his feet, and was currently circling him, regarding him with amusement.

“What are you going to do with that, boy?” he asked mockingly, and almost pounced on him, huffing out a laugh at the jerky movement Simmons was forced to do to avoid stabbing him. Gates laughed. “Come now, I’ll make it easy for you. Isn’t that what you want? To put your blade through my black heart?”

He moved again, and Simmons retreated. He knew Gates was toying with him, but he’d never fought anyone with the intention of actually harming them, and the thought of doing so made him feel faintly sick. “Just— Just let me leave, alright?” He bit his dry lips, slowly backtracking towards the door.

Gates tilted his head to the side. “Oh, I’m not going to do that.” He lunged once more, this time taking a hold of Simmons’ throat again as he violently pressed his head against the wall, cornering him. In a panic, Simmons brought his hands to his chest, desperate to push him away, and the knife slid cleanly into Gates’ chest, near his heart.

Simmons would not soon forget the sound or the feel of the blade sinking in flesh under his hand. He gasped, horrified at what he’d done, at Gates’ still standing body, at what awaited him now. Gates took a few stumbling steps backwards, looking down at the knife embedded in his chest.

Then, with disbelieving terror, Simmons observed how Gates’ fingers wrapped around the handle of the knife and pulled it out, unflinchingly, his smile still in place. His blood, staining the blade, dripped and glistened in the candlelight. “I'm curious— after killing me, what is it you’re planning on doing next?”

Simmons whirled and pushed open the door of the cabin, stumbling as he fled, prepared to run, but came to a dead stop as the deck came into view.

The pirate crew were working at their stations, coiling lines, navigating the ship, swabbing floors, none of them sparing more than a glance at his sudden appearance. But now that the storm had passed and the clouds had retreated, as the moonlight shone on their bodies and lit every inch of the ship, he saw that they were naught but skeletons.

Simmons’ mind tried to rationalize what he was seeing, and couldn’t. Through the horror that was cursing through his veins, he somehow convinced his weakening legs to run, to try to get to the small boat in which he’d been brought, but a few of the pirates —the skeletons, the dead, they _were_ dead, they _were_ wraiths— cut his way off, their pale bony fingers reaching out to grab him. He avoided them, narrowly escaping —but they were everywhere. All over the ship, on the deck, up the rigging, at the helm. Like an army, a swarm of white soulless beings surrounding him and he couldn’t escape…

Someone grabbed him from behind, and he struggled uselessly as they turned him around.

Gates and Ortez emerged from the Captain’s cabin, and as they did, their flesh seemed to melt away. Simmons stared helplessly as they became monsters before his own eyes, and advanced towards him. He covered his eyes, but Gates forced his hands away from his face and made him look at the deck, where the nightmarish crew stood, their white looking almost bluish when bathed by the full moon.

His maniacal voice growled in Simmons’ ear. “Look! The moonlight shows us for what we really are. We are not among the living, and so we cannot die, but neither are we dead. For too long I’ve been parched with thirst and unable to quench it. Too long I’ve been starving to death and haven’t died. I feel nothing. Not the wind on my face, nor the spray of the sea, nor the warmth of flesh!” He pushed Simmons towards the skeletal crew, who seemed to gather around him, a few of them laughing, most of them silently watching him.

Gates, or his animated remains, held up the bottle of wine, uncorked it with his teeth, and drank it all. Simmons’ terrified eyes followed the liquid as it colored his pale bones a dark red, splashing his jaw, travelling down his throat, running over his ribcage. “You best start believing in ghost stories, Mr. Simmons. You’re in one!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Publishing this chapter on the night of the Friday the 13th full moon, also known as the harvest moon. There's gotta be something witchy about it. Kind of appropriate, isn't it?


	12. After the Storm

When Kai woke up, the first thing she saw was Dex's grumpy face in front of hers, blurrily blinking the sleep away from his eyes.

A rush of affection overcame her, and she felt happier than she ever had before. “Good morning, brother,” she beamed, bumping her forehead against his.

He still looked half-awake and not too happy about it, but he smiled. “Good morning, Kai.”

Stretching her arms, she got up from the bed and threw her pillow at Dex’s face, for good measure. “You stay here,” she chirped, nonchalantly ignoring his complaining. “I’ll get breakfast.”

She almost danced down the stairs, and opened the door with a bright smile. Upon stepping outside, she inhaled deeply. The air seemed to smell different, new.

She’d done it.

Even as she wished to focus on nothing else except the sense of triumph, her glee dampened as she began to walk to the bakery, seeing sailors on every street. She forced herself to not stare, or look worried —they had to be looking for Dex, she shouldn’t be surprised about that. But they must’ve noticed the missing boat, mustn’t they? Had the ruse not worked?

“Um, excuse me, miss?”

Kai turned to see a young sailor who looked harried. With a start, she noticed that it was none other than the hapless guard she’d had to distract the night before, but she managed to keep the guilty realization from showing on her face.

“Good morning, miss Kaikaina, I’m Lieutenant Jensen,” she said after saluting a little clumsily. “So sorry for disturbing you, but there were, um… we believe some pirates were on the island last night.”

Well, there certainly were, Kai thought with a flicker of amusement, thinking of her brother hiding in the printer’s garret. She fought to keep a grin off her face as Jensen quickly lifted her hands in what was probably meant as a calming gesture for the sake of her nonexistent panic. “They are gone now, but we are checking up on everyone to make sure that no one else was taken or hurt. Is everything alright?”

 _More than_ , Kai wanted to shout in her face and lift her up in joy, too full of bliss again. _I got my brother back_. And to top it off, the Navy clearly thought he was long gone. Everything had worked out perfectly, then. She managed to restrain it all to a smile. “Oh, yes. No, uh, no incidents at all.”

Jensen nodded. “I’m glad, miss. And did you happen to see anything or anyone at all suspicious?”

Kai’s good mood dimmed again, remembering the figures creeping in the dark near the cells. But nothing had come of that, and she’d have to explain her presence there if she mentioned it. “No, I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

Even as she said this, she frowned, something nagging at her, a feeling that only intensified when the sailor stood there, not moving to leave, but seemingly hesitant to bring herself to speak further. “Is there anything…?” And then, it dawned on her. “Wait, why did you say no one else?”

Jensen looked unhappy, and her voice was quiet when she answered. “Mr. Simmons… The Governor’s son was taken, miss.”

Kai’s whole body froze in place, an ice cold substance slowly replacing the blood in her veins. “What?” she heard herself ask.

Jensen made an aborted movement to put her hand on her shoulder. “They attacked the Governor’s house and… No one was found alive. But Mr. Simmons wasn’t found at all,” she gulped. “Mintonette… she’s one of the servants, heard a shot and managed to escape to the forest. She eventually reached the fort and informed us, but it was too late.” The sailor was clearly dejected. “I’m so sorry.”

Kai heard her explanation as if it came from far away, and gave no response as Jensen saluted and went on with her duties. Any thought of food forgotten, she mechanically walked back to the printer’s, the streets and the people she passed by seeming like a blur to her.

After turning the handle with shaking fingers, she closed the door, leaning her forehead against it for a moment, then slid to the floor on her knees.

“That was quick, did you get— Kai!” Her brother’s voice went from teasing to alarmed, and he was at her side in an instant. “What is it? Are you alright?”

It took a few minutes for her to push the words out. “They were here last night.” She sounded desolate to her own ears. “They took Simmons.”

 

* * *

 

“I have to go over there,” Kai said determinedly. “I can find out what they know, and maybe we can help them find Simmons.”

Having dressed Dex up in some borrowed, less eye-catching clothes, Kai had rushed them both to town without any more delay. The two had stopped behind a ruinous wall a fair distance away, so as to keep Dex discreetly out of sight. In one of the fort’s galleries, the Commodore, the Governor and a group of sailors were huddled around a table, surely discussing their next steps.

“Kai…”

“They have sailors, they have ships, and they have resources. If we move fast, maybe we’ll reach the Wraith in time.” She took a step forward, but Dex held up a hand to stop her.

“No, you won’t,” he said. “What if they know something about you, too? About us? We can’t risk it.”

Kai looked him in the eyes. “Simmons is in trouble. I have to.”

Before he could retort, she turned and marched up to the gathering, her usual confident gait turned clumsy and brittle. She'd taken her sword out of its scabbard. It usually made her feel better to have something to fiddle with, but now it just felt like lead in her hand.

“I know they’ve taken Simmons,” she said in way of greeting, already feeling breathless. “We have to hunt them down, now.”

The sailors eyed her curiously, but the Governor didn’t react in any way that she could see. The Commodore barely raised his head from the map he was examining, his face a grim mask. “And where do you propose we start?” he asked.

Kai faltered. “You have no information on their whereabouts or intentions at all?”

“None has been received,” the Commodore said curtly, and Kai fought the dawning horror as she realized what this meant. If no ransom notes had been left or sent, then…

“How could this happen!?” she yelled, overcome by fear. “What’s the point of all that vigilance, of all of _you_ , if you still let this happen!?”

“They didn’t fire from the ship or raid the town, miss. A small group of them must’ve rowed to the island, taken the Governor’s son and nobody or nothing else, and left just as discreetly,” a tall sailor explained in a low voice. “That’s not how pirates usually operate, and we were not expecting something like that.”

“Cowards!” Sarge barked out with fire in his eyes.

She swallowed and took a few deep breaths. She had to be practical, keep a clear head. “What do you know?”

By the look on his face, not much. “One of the servants of the Governor’s household was alerted by a shot at around one in the morning.” The Commodore skimmed one of the papers on the table. “The scullery maid, Mintonette. She reported that she ran out the kitchen door and hid in the forest. She isn’t sure how long she was there, but after a while, she managed to reach the fort and notify us. Unfortunately, by the time we prepared, the intruders’ ship was gone without a trace.”

Kai believed that. She could still see the Wraith appearing out of thin air, vanishing just as quickly, as if the sight was before her. “And who where they? Did she recognize any of them?”

Sarge shook his head. “She didn’t see the kidnappers, and nobody else has, according to our inquiries.” He ran his hand over his face, and it occurred to Kai that he seemed even older than usual. “All the sailors stationed around the manor were dead, so we cannot be sure who—”

“But we can, sir!” one of the young sailors intervened. “Lieutenant Andersmith was in charge of the spyglass at the time, sir. He said it was a ship with black sails! It had to be the Wraith! With its devil crew and—!”

Sarge slammed his fist on the table, which trembled. “Blast it all, Matthews! Now is not the time for your witch tales!”

Kai bit the inside of her cheek, eyeing the Commodore. Trying to keep her tone flat, she said, “The stories might not be all true, but that’s the only lead you’ve got. So, at least for now, you should operate under the belief that this was their doing.”

The tall sailor took a step forward. He was standing straight as a rod, and his voice was clear and confident. “Sir, I reiterate what I said in my report. I only managed to catch it for a second before all its lights went out, but I saw it. The ship had black sails, and as far as our official records show, the only ship that corresponds with that description is the Wraith. I would never lie or let silly fantasies corrupt my senses about something like this, sir, or my name isn’t John Elizabeth Andersmith.” The man saluted and went back to his position.

In response, Sarge grumbled something under his breath that Kai didn’t catch.

Knowing she was treading dangerous ground, she asked, “And what if you could find something, or someone, who could help you find this Wraith?”

Sarge’s eyes did lock on hers then. “If by someone, you mean the pirate we caught yesterday, we already thought of that. But he is gone, no doubt aided by his fellow crewmates to escape.” The barely contained anger was obvious in his voice.

She hesitated. “But, if you found him, you could make a deal with him—”

“If I found him,” The Commodore’s eyes were steely, “then I would wring all the information he had to give out of him, and I assure you he’d regret the day he and his crew of barbarians set foot on this island.”

Kai swallowed and composed her expression into something as neutral as she could. “Of course.”

“Well?” Sarge was still looking at her. “Do you know of anything at all that could prove useful to our search?”

She did. She did, she wanted to scream, but in trying to save one brother she would condemn the other. “No,” she croaked out finally, her shoulders slumped, defeated.

“Then we have no leads at all.” Sarge turned to the Governor and said, “All we can do is establish the most likely course—”

“That’s not good enough!” Kai shouted, her desperation bursting out of her. She brought her sword down on the table with all the force of the helplessness she was feeling, and it sunk in the wood. “Make it known that you’ll pay a large sum to whomever brings Simmons back, or to anyone who has any information. Send spies to the most well-known pirate hideouts and have them ask around! Someone, somewhere, must know how to find the Wraith, and it’s surely another pirate. Make a deal with as many of them as you can—”

The Commodore turned sharply towards her again. “I would sooner drown,” he spat out, “than make a deal with a pirate, least of all a whole bunch of them. Even if they could be trusted, do you really think any of them would help us? That even if they were not all wretched to the bone, they would not be too scared of the Wraith’s reputation to do so?”

That last part, at least, was true —the fear that the Wraith inspired was undoubtedly greater than any promise of gold. But this was Simmons’ life at stake. She couldn’t leave things as they were. “You can’t just— Your plan, if it can even be called that, is a stab in the dark! You have to do _something_ —”

“Kaikaina,” the Governor finally intervened, in a hoarse tone of voice, “this is not the time for rash actions.” He was still crouched over the map, hadn’t even looked up from it once since she had arrived.

Despite knowing that her guardian was cold-blooded, Kai was incensed. Not even now would he care, when his own son had been kidnapped?

She opened her mouth to answer in what one might consider a rude manner, but then he turned to look at her, and the words died on her lips. His mouth was pressed together in a tense line and his face looked pale, and Kai felt a pang of sympathy for this man for the first time in her life.

Still, she had to try. “But we must—!”

“Kaikaina!” Sarge barked. “You are not a military woman. You are not a sailor. You are a loose cannon.” He approached her. “Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only one here who cares for Simmons. If you have any actual suggestion that could help us, share it now.” Her heart hurt with guilt, but that she could not do. “If not,” Sarge almost growled at her, as he tore the blade from the table and set it down on its side with a clang, “let us do our job, and stay out of this.”

That, she would not do.

 

* * *

 

Kai walked back to where she had left Dex, mind racing in a whirlwind of anxious worries and far-fetched ideas.

“They know nothing,” she said as she reached him, pulling at her hair so that she wouldn’t punch the stone wall instead. “They said they haven’t received any message, any ransom note…”

Her brother nodded. “Right.” His eyes looked pitying, but he still added, “And the Commodore and the others… they know what that means.”

Kai felt sick to her stomach, his words like a blunt confirmation of her own fears, and had to sit down. “Oh, gods,” she croaked out, feeling about to heave.

Dex’s hands were on her shoulders, a welcome, warm weight. “It’s alright,” he said.

But it wasn’t. Kai shook her head, feeling tears pricking her eyes. “You’re lying,” she said. “Oh, gods, Dex. I— What they might be doing to him, I can’t—”

She gasped for air as her mind conjured all the horrible scenarios it could come up with. She knew that Locus and Felix weren’t ones to let anyone stand in their way. What would they do to Simmons? He couldn’t fight, and even if he could, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself against this. They would interrogate him, that was for sure, to find out what he knew.

But he knew absolutely nothing that might keep him alive, she thought desperately. Even if he gave her up, even if he told them what little he knew, it would not help him. They had no reason to show him any mercy. Perhaps he was being tortured, or he was dead already, and this was all her fault—

She did heave then, emptying her stomach on the ground. One of Dex’s hands was holding her hair out of her face, the other had moved to rub her back, tracing circles on it. He was muttering calming things to her, but she couldn’t focus on any of them.

Gods, she thought, her whole body shaking, how she wished to be a child again and be with her brother and her mother and have never lost them and have never met Simmons at all and not have to live this any longer—

The moment of desperation came and went. She wiped her mouth and her tear-tracked face, her breathing slowly becoming regular again. After a minute, she inhaled, haltingly, but her voice didn’t tremble. “Even if he tells them what they want to know, they are not going to give him back, Dex.”

He sighed. “No, they are not.”

She ran her hands over her face and hair tightly, unable to stop picturing all the details from last night. The Wraith had sent a small group, according to what the sailor had said. She’d seen them, she knew that now. Those two figures near the cells had to be them. Kai felt chills go up her spine as she thought of just how close those monsters had been to her brother and herself. It intensified as she realized that they must have gone on to kidnap Simmons after that, while she and Dex fled to safety.

And she had let them. If she’d done something, anything…

“This is my fault.” She slumped. “They were so close. If I’d tried to stop them last night, maybe…”

Dex shook his head. “There was nothing you could’ve done.”

“Simmons shouldn’t have to be involved in all this,” she stated. But even as she said that, a small, inner voice whispered that he’d involved himself the moment he’d taken the medallion from her. It had been many years ago, but he’d made a choice that, uninformed as it was, had linked his fate with theirs.

She rose. “I have to save him.”

“Kai, no. It’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t care.”

Her brother crossed his arms. “Well, tough luck, because I do.” He hesitated. “And I know you don’t want to think about this, but he may have told them about you already. We need to flee, now. Far away from here, from the Wraith, from everything, and never look back.”

She felt as if he had punched her in the gut. “No!”

“We should be gone already! If anybody recognizes me, we’re both done for—”

She resisted the urge to tug at her hair again. He didn’t understand. “Fine, then you hide, or leave. I can’t ask you to risk your life. But I’m getting on one of those ships, somehow. I need to find Simmons, I need to—”

“No way in hell am I leaving you again,” Dex said fiercely.

“Help me then!”

He leveled her with a look. “The Navy will search for him.”

“You know that they won’t be able to catch them, Dex.”

“I haven’t spent eight years looking for you just to risk it all for one man I don’t even know. Now that I’ve found you, we must leave.”

Increasingly desperate, Kai could see that there was no convincing him, but she was not easily swayed, either. “I need to help him. I’m going after the Wraith.”

“No,” Dex’s tone was firm. “Look, I know he matters to you. But he’s not my responsibility. You are.”

“Well, he is mine! I’m not going to abandon him—”

“Alright, fine. Fine. Say you manage to find him. What then?”

“I can fight them!”

“Fight them!? They can’t die, Kai! And even if they could, it’d be one against fifty. So what are you going to do? Offer yourself up as an exchange?” Grif’s eyes bore into hers searchingly, and his face crumpled at what he found. “No,” he said, voice strangled. “Don’t you even _think_ —”

Kai swallowed. “If there is nothing else that can save him—”

“We can’t go and throw ourselves into the belly of the beast for just anybody, Kai! This is the people we’ve been running from our whole lives! I’m sorry for your friend, but—”

“He’s my brother!” Kai blurted out before she could stop herself.

She covered her mouth with her hands. It wasn’t something to hide, to be ashamed of, she knew it. Yet she still felt guilt eating her up on the inside, like a snake coiling in her stomach.

There was silence after that.

“What do you mean,” Dex asked, voice uncertain.

“I…,” she said, closing her eyes. “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how to.” She breathed deeply. “When… after the shipwreck, Simmons found me. His ship saved me. And, when we got here… the Governor adopted me. After a fashion.”

The last thing she wanted to do was continue, knowing every word would lodge itself like a thorn in his heart, but she knew she had to. “Simmons and I… We grew up together, and I love him. I know there’s no blood between us, but he’s my brother too.”

She hung her head, not daring to look at him. She wanted to apologize, but doing so would not be fair to either of them, or to herself. She could not regret her bond with Simmons anymore than her bond with Dex.

There was another pause, which to her ears seemed to stretch forever. “I see,” Dex said, and where his voice had been warm not too long ago, now it betrayed nothing.

Kai reached out and put her arms around his neck with as much desperate strength as she could muster, trying to meet his eyes, trying not to cry. “Dex, I love you. You are my brother. This doesn’t change that. Please don’t… don’t be angry, or believe I replaced you. Never. No one could ever replace you.”

She saw him swallow. He was still not looking at her, and didn’t say anything while he disentangled himself from her hold.

“Dex…”

Sorrowfully, she let him walk away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought I was the type of writer who liked to make her favorite characters suffer until I actually started writing. The more you know...?


	13. Unwanted

For the first time in his life, Grif was looking for a fight.

He would’ve given anything for anyone —a sailor, a fisherman, a beggar— to recognize him, confront him, just so he could fight and yell and have an outlet for the hurricane that was brimming inside him.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, that was all he could think of, like a child, as if he’d ever believed life could be fair. _Were you expecting any different?_ , he berated himself.

He had spent his whole life running, searching for Kai, and now that they were as free as they could ever be, now that they were finally together again…

She’d claimed that she hadn’t replaced him, but that was a lie, he thought furiously. She’d thought him lost, and lo and behold, the very moment he’d vanished, a new, shinier, _better_ candidate for a brother had appeared and taken his place.

Simmons, this… this little cumberground, he’d just swept in at the right time and taken his sister for himself, for _eight_ years. He’d found her out of sheer dumb luck and had not even suffered one day for it, his privileged, sheltered life had been a breeze, while Grif had gone through everything imaginable just to survive, just so he could find her—

And now, Kai was willing to risk everything to save Simmons. _What about me_ , a deep, childish part of him that he smothered daily cried out, _why didn’t she do the same for me?_

Because he wasn’t as important, the voice continued —never had been, to anybody. He’d been tossed around by the world until he’d gotten tired of it, and then he’d been alone. He eventually formed his own crew, out of misfits and rejects like him, but he had always kept his distance from them. Had always been looking over his shoulder, knowing that it wouldn’t last, that it could all be taken from him in a moment. And he hadn’t cared. Because he had a mission, and that was all that mattered. Finding his sister.

But Kai had been adopted by a Governor. She’d had a family, a big house, servants, an education, plenty of food on the table. Probably hadn’t wanted for anything. She’d grown up safe, surrounded by the Navy. She must’ve been happy.

She’d been better off without him.

A seed that had slowly grown into poison ivy inside his heart, taking root deep down, had long made him wonder if the reason he couldn’t find Kai was because she didn’t want him to. When she’d said that she’d thought him dead all these years, it had withered and died, and Grif had been relieved. But now…

Now he knew he was unneeded. Unwanted.

Maybe she just didn’t want to be found.

Something hit his leg and squeaked, interrupting his racing, bitter thoughts. He looked down to see a small child who’d fallen flat on her arse after the collision.

“Sorry, mister!” the girl said. Her face and clothes were smeared with dirt, and she was breathing hard. He kneeled down to help her up and ask if she was okay, when a no less dirty boy appeared around the corner and tackled her with a joyous shout.

“Tag, you’re it!” he yelled while the girl squealed and laughed. In a pile as they were, Grif could see their hair was the exact same shade of brown, their noses the same shape. Clearly family.

“Okay, okay, you caught me!” She pulled at his hair until he rolled off and helped her up, both still laughing. “Now it’s your turn!”

The boy took a few steps, turned around, and stuck his tongue out at him before running off.

“Bye, mister!” the girl waved at him and went to pursue her brother.

Grif stayed there, half-kneeling, feeling strange, like he’d been punched in the stomach but was glad it had happened. He breathed in slowly and ran a hand over his face, trying to collect himself.

What had he expected? For Kai to never have a life of her own? Would he prefer it if she had been alone this whole time, never finding anybody to care for her? Would he prefer it if Simmons had been dismissive or cruel to her, or treated her as lesser instead of as family, as Kai claimed he had done?

No.

But was he that easy to replace? Did she even truly love him anymore?

…Had she wanted him to return to her life at all?

Grif took a deep, halting breath. No, no, she loved him, she'd said so. Maybe she hadn't needed him, that was true. But he was still back, and he would not leave her unless she told him to.

Even in his bitterness, he knew it was not Kai’s fault. And deep down, he knew it was not Simmons’, or anyone’s, except the people’s he had always known to blame.

Kai had believed him dead, and had tried to go on with her life. That was all. As miserable as being replaced made him feel, he couldn’t resent her for that. She'd been as safe and as happy as she could be, and he was glad.

And Simmons… as much as he hated him right now, he forced himself to remember that he was just an innocent caught in the middle of a dark family matter. Whatever Grif had against him, he felt genuinely sorry for the man. Not to mention that if Simmons had told Locus and Felix about Kai, they would be here already, but there was no sign of them. Perhaps…

If only the Wraith hadn’t shown up —he mused as if he had any faith in ‘if only’—, or even if it had appeared a day or two later, they could’ve just left and—

A new, paralyzing thought formed in his mind. Had _he_ led the Wraith to Armonia?

The fact was they had appeared the very night of his arrival. They had been after him and the gold for most of his life, and they were sometimes scarily competent at it.

It seemed like too big a coincidence, and it wasn’t the first one. It had only happened a handful of times, but the Wraith had a knack for showing up in places where he’d been not long after he’d arrived. He was certain that they must have eyes and ears in every port, maybe even on other ships. The Wraith was the fastest he’d ever seen, fast enough to follow the whispers before their trail got cold.

Had someone in Armonia ratted him out? It seemed like the only logical explanation. But then… then Simmons’ current predicament was his fault. That still didn't explain the Wraith finding the gold so quickly, in the span of a single night. How—?

The telltale sounds of the Navy’s boots were heard. Grif cursed inwardly, and hesitated —he still wanted to punch someone— but his practical side won out. He scrambled to his feet and hid in an alley. Sullenly, he crossed his arms and waited for the patrol to pass him by.

The voice he heard was already familiar. “…Going after them is a waste of time, resources and probably lives. He’s as good as dead,” Bitters was stating darkly.

The sailor he was with —a girl this time, it appeared he had managed to get a different partner— gasped. “Don’t say that, Antoine!” Her voice was a little wet.

“Katie, I’m just being realistic,” the boy insisted, although his tone was a little less harsh. “But my opinion doesn’t matter, obviously, I’m still getting assigned to the search. I’m going on the Hand of Merope, I think. How about…?”

The two sailors disappeared around a corner. Grif stayed silent for a while after they left.

The kid was right. Simmons was probably dead. And if he wasn’t already, he’d soon be.

As much as he didn’t like that —Grif didn’t care about him, but he didn’t wish anyone a stay on the Wraith—, it was still a fact.

But Kai did care, and she wasn’t going to back off on this, he could tell. She was so _damn_ stubborn. If he didn’t help her, she’d just do it by herself. And whether what she'd have to do was face a crew of undead pirates or come to terms with a heartbreaking death, he didn't want her to be alone.

He breathed out, “Damn it,” and began retracing his steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a very happy chapter, I know... but Grif hasn't had a very happy life.


	14. Commandeering the Interceptor

Kai hadn’t moved since Dex had left, except to sit down on the ground and rest her forehead on her arms.

She hadn’t meant to tell him. Well, she was going to, at some point. Just not under these circumstances. Not here, not yet, and certainly not in the middle of that argument.

Damnit, why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? She had been trying not to lose either of her brothers. Now, with every second that passed, they were both drifting further away from her.

Something soft hit her in the head, and she lifted her gaze in surprise.

“We never actually had breakfast, so I stole us some,” Dex said easily, as if he hadn’t left at all.

Kai grabbed the projectile from the ground. It was a fresh load of bread wrapped up in a piece of cloth.

Her stomach growled, and she was sure that his did too, but she was still uneasy.

“Dex…” she started.

He pursed his lips. “Listen… I don’t like this. Any of this. But there is no way that you’re going after the Wraith without me. So I’ll help.” He sat beside her and said, voice quieter, “If you don’t want me to st—”

She didn’t let him finish, throwing the bread aside and her arms around his neck. “Thank you, brother,” she murmured fervently, “thank you, thank you.”

He hugged her back after a moment, and she let out a relieved breath.

“What do you want to do now?” Dex asked her quietly.

 

* * *

 

Kai went home.

She didn’t really know why. The Navy had been there already, and she was sure the Wraith had left no clues she could follow. Maybe she needed to see it for herself.

She crossed the threshold feeling unsure, almost fearful, as if the house might come crashing down on her the minute she entered it, reacting against an intruding presence like the body collapsing under the attack of a sickness.

It was lucky that she did so, for she almost stepped on a puddle of dried blood. She covered her mouth with her hands, horrified, as a thousand horrible scenarios passed through her mind at once.

A shot, Lieutenant Jensen and the Commodore had mentioned a shot that alerted one of the servants. Was it possible that…? No, no, it couldn’t be. If they’d killed Simmons, he would’ve been found in the mansion, she reasoned, though her stomach still lurched at the thought. They had no reason to take a... a corpse. He had to be alive. Alive, and in their clutches.

But he _could_ be hurt. Was the blood—

She felt Dex’s presence not too far behind her even before he spoke. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “I don’t think it’s his.” His voice sounded deeper than usual. “The blood isn’t smeared, so whoever… was here, wasn’t moved until it had dried, probably this morning. And we know Simmons was taken last night.” He made a pause, and when she didn’t say anything, he repeated, “Kai. It can’t be his.”

She nodded, although the lump in her throat didn’t loosen. Even if it wasn't Simmons'... it was likely, then, that a servant had died here. Someone she knew, someone she had lived with, whose only crime was to work at her house.

The Navy must have picked up the body out of respect, but with the preparations for the search, no one had the time to thoroughly clean the scene yet, presumably. She’d already heard about the murdered sailors outside, but besides their bodies, there had been no traces for anyone to take care of. No blood, no powder, nothing. They had been cleanly killed off, one by one.

Kai shuddered. They hadn’t even seen their death coming. None of them.

She’d brought a plague to this house, she knew that.

Her feet took her upstairs, while Dex still hovered at the doorframe. She’d told him not to come, that he might be recognized, but he’d refused to leave her, and at least that brought a comforting warmth to her chest.

Then she found herself in Simmons’ room.

There were no signs of a struggle. The bed was uncharacteristically unmade, and there was one half-consumed candle on the night table, but that was it. Had they taken him in his sleep? Had he realized what was happening? Had he even known why?

Kai gingerly sat on the mattress, brushing the soft linen with her fingers.

They hadn’t shared a bed as children. There was no need to, of course, with the manor having a guest bedroom that had become hers the very day of her arrival, but she had been used to that, had missed Dex's comforting presence next to her.

She had quickly learned that the feeling was not mutual, mostly on account of Simmons’ shyness, and so she had gotten used to sleeping alone. But sometimes, Kai would snuck up onto his bed in the middle of the night after a nightmare —and on some rare occasions, Simmons would do the same—, and they talked and laughed and fell asleep together under the sheets.

As they’d grown older, they had stopped, but if he were here now, Kai would have done it again in a heartbeat.

Abandoned on the bed, she spotted a book. She grabbed it gently, and took a look at the title. It was one of Simmons’ pirate novels, the ones he thought she didn’t know he read. She flicked through the pages, not really paying attention to any of the words in them.

She recalled finding one of those books by chance, concealed under a loose floor board in his room, when she was about fourteen. The mixture of emotions it had brought up in her had been overwhelming.

On the surface, surprise at his ingenuity, and at the fact that he was keeping something hidden at all. He wasn’t very good at secrecy, or so she had thought back then. He’d grow flustered and stutter whenever he tried to lie. But then again, a secret was not exactly a lie.

A part of her had wanted to tease him for it, just to see him blush and deny that the book was his. Or perhaps make up a feeble excuse, for example, that he read them to improve his knowledge on sailing. Kai could hear his voice breaking already. She had imagined reading some of the purple prose-heavy passages out loud while he chased her around, doing silly voices for the love scenes —and risqué scenes, too, who’d have thought it of shy, prudish Simmons? She would have had matter for teasing for years to come. It would have been _glorious_.

She had known of Simmons’ interest in the subject, but not through him. He had never mentioned it in front of her. But his father knew about it —and of course disapproved—, as did Sarge, and the servants had overheard more than one conversation between them about the topic. She had lived under the same roof for years —did he really think no whisper about his fascination with piracy would ever reach her?

But if she was honest, the moment she’d held the book in her hands, she had realized, with a sinking feeling, that she preferred it that way. Thinking about… _that_ made her feel miserable and wistful for something she could never have again, in such a deep-rooted way that nothing could shake it if she let it catch up with her —not even moving as fast as she moved, never staying still for long, meeting new people until she’d run out of new people to meet, going from one job to another and from one house to another and trying to have something to do always, _always_ —, and she was afraid that if she brought up the topic with Simmons, he would have spoken of nothing else, and every word would be a stab in her heart.

Now she thought, perhaps if she hadn’t been so afraid of memories, things would’ve been different.

Maybe she should have suspected that Simmons knew something, what with how zealously he concealed this fixation from her. But she had dismissed it at the time as him being simply embarrassed, since those books were hardly considered appropriate reading matters, especially for a young man of his standing. Simmons could be reserved about things like that, the kind that in Kai’s eyes barely merited said secrecy, but she had learnt to respect that.

But finding out about the medallion had been an entirely different story. This had never crossed her mind. The possibility that Simmons had successfully kept a secret from everyone. Especially not this secret. Especially not from her.

A rush of anger ran through her, flooding the guilt away —What had he been thinking? Why had he done it? Who did he think he was, to steal the only thing, the _one_ thing, that belonged to her, that connected her to her mother, to her brother? Was he ever going to tell her? Would she ever have found out? Had he kept anything else from her, too?

Kai felt even more furious and she squeezed the book in her lap, suddenly wanting nothing more than to tear it apart. Stupid, selfish Simmons. He shouldn’t have done it. He could’ve talked to her. He could’ve asked, could’ve explained, and if he had said something, anything, now he wouldn’t be—

He’d be here. He’d be safe.

Simmons with his silly books and his starry eyes and his naïve ideas about everything.

Her eyes watered and she pressed the book against her chest. This was her fault. If only she had talked to Simmons, if she hadn’t kept it all a secret from him, maybe he would’ve shared this too. She would’ve known he had the medallion and could have warned him. She could’ve protected him.

She turned her head hastily as she heard Dex come in. He didn’t say anything, just put a hand on her shoulder, and Kai, tears falling on the book cover, bitterly wondered if she was cursed to always have one brother lost and only one beside her.

 

* * *

 

Kai gathered some money from the manor, and after passing by the market on the way for a few more supplies —and paying for them, which Kai insisted on— they went back to the printer’s.

She walked around, ruffling through the pages spread through the tables as the smell of paper and ink, now coupled with the melancholy, brought back memories.

“I worked here when I was fifteen,” she muttered. “I used to steal pages from unpublished novels and smuggle them to Simmons, so he could read them before anybody else. He loves books.” She chuckled, but she was aware it was a little wet. “They fired me in a month when they found out. Shortest job I’ve ever had.”

“So you haven’t lost the Grif thieving instinct, I see. Very good,” Dex remarked.

She snorted. She didn’t know, had never known how he managed to find that levity, but she was thankful for it.

Taking a deep breath, Kai turned to her brother. “Okay. I’m thinking we go on one of the Navy’s ships as stowaways.” Nerves twisted her stomach at the plan, but she’d be lying if she said it didn’t fill her with excitement too.

“Not a good idea,” Dex shook his head. “There are too many people on those ships, and even if we could sneak inside without being seen, it’d be hard to hide ourselves effectively. We’re not exactly small. Besides…”

“What?”

“If anyone sees us, they will certainly recognize you.”Her brother sent her a look. “Are you sure you’re fine with this? People who know you thinking you’re a criminal?”

“Of course,” she replied, hoping her smirk hid her uneasiness. “After all, it runs in the family.”

“Alright,” he said, still looking unconvinced. “But no stowing away. Even in the best of circumstances, we’d be stuck going where the Navy goes. And they made it clear that they had no intention to go near any pirate hideouts, remember?”

“Then what do you propose we do?” Kai asked, feeling despondent.

To her surprise, Dex smirked.

 

* * *

 

“We’re going to steal a ship!?”

They were hiding under a bridge, carefully watching the docks. Most of the Navy ships had already departed to begin the search for Simmons, but there were a few left.

Dex held up a finger. “Commandeer. We’re going to ‘commandeer’ a ship. That’s the nautical term.” Kai rolled her eyes behind his back. He pointed forward. “That ship.”

She followed his finger to… “That ship!?”

The Longsword Interceptor floated proudly under the sun. It was one of the most beautiful ships in Armonia, not the biggest or the one with the most firepower, granted, but what it lacked in attack it made up for in speed. Or so it had been drilled into her, against her will, by all the times the Commodore had sung its praises during his visits to the Governor’s mansion.

Because it also was, besides the Hand of Merope, Sarge’s favorite.

She wondered if it had been coincidental, or if Dex could somehow tell how much it would bother the commander to lose that ship by his hand. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she voiced diplomatically.

“I was told it’s the fastest one here by two quality seamen, I assure you,” Dex said by way of an explanation.

She repressed a laugh at his lightly mocking tone. “I know that.” She frowned. Right now, only a few sailors were on board, coming and going with weapons and barrels, readying the ship. “What I don’t understand is, if it’s the fastest one, how come it hasn’t left for the search yet?” she muttered, once again irritated by the Navy’s proceedings.

“The Commodore seemed fond of Simmons, from what I could tell, so I’d bet he’ll join the search personally. The Hand of Merope may be the flagship, but it’s slower. He’ll probably want to be on the fastest one, so I imagine he will board the Interceptor. And since he had to organize everyone else, it will be the last one to go.” Her brother shrugged and continued, dismissively, “Besides, it’s not like they know where they’re going. Who cares if they get there fast?”

Kai exhaled slowly. “How do we do this?”

“With our luck?” Dex looked at her. “Badly.”

She sighed. “Okay.”

They came out of their hiding place, walking leisurely so as to not seem suspicious. To Dex, it seemed to come naturally, but Kai kept glancing left and right, worried that they’d be spotted before the opportune time. Nobody noticed them, however. They reached the pier and pretended to prepare a small boat, as if they were going on a fishing trip.

Patiently, they waited until only a handful of seamen were on the Interceptor, and came aboard, gun and sword at the ready.

“Everyone stay calm! We’re taking over this ship!” Dex announced.

Not too sure what to say, Kai added, holding her blade high, “Right! Avast!”

“Oh, come on!” one of the sailors exclaimed, barely holding his arms up. She vaguely knew him from running around town on her errands —Beetle? Bottle? He was looking right at her brother. “You again?”

“Hello, Captain Grif,” waved Matthews, hands in the air. She recalled him from the meeting.

“Hello, Bitters, Matthews, how are you,” Dex said cordially, but didn’t lower the pistol.

“You know them?” Kai asked, surprised.

Her brother sighed. “By now, they’re old acquaintances.”

“Miss Kaikaina!?” Jensen asked, looking at her in incredulity.

“You know her?” it was her brother’s turn to enquire.

Of course she was there too. Kai grimaced, but forced herself not to put down the sword and swallowed the sorry. “Uh… I don’t have to explain myself to you. You heard us. Leave!” She wasn’t sure how menacing she sounded. Probably not much. “Or I’ll, er, I’ll let my sword speak for me!” she added, and noticed Dex eyeing her, clearly not impressed. _What?_ , she mouthed at him.

“But— We’re getting ready to go after Mr. Simmons!” Jensen protested.

“And it is our duty to guard the ship,” another one —Andersmith, Kai remembered— added.

“And we spent all morning loading crates!” a small boy whose uniform loosely fit him whined.

“Shut up, Palomo,” Bitters dryly interjected.

“This ship cannot be easily crewed by two people. You’ll never make it out of the bay,” Andersmith stated confidently.

Dex eyed him. “We’ll see about that.” He sighed and pointed to the wooden ramp that joined the ship and the deck with his pistol. “Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be. Just go.”

“But—!”

Her brother lifted his weapon. “I’ll not say it again.” Kai noticed he was trying to use the voice he’d tried on her at the forge. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been comforting that he was as bad at being intimidating as her, but it was. “Leave, or I will make you all walk the plank, I swear.”

“We’re at the pier…” Jensen objected.

Dex gesticulated wildly with his free hand. “It’s a figure of speech!”

“We’re going to get fired,” Matthews muttered glumly before obeying. One by one, they all left the ship. Kai only felt a little guilt at leaving them on the docks, helplessly looking on after them. But she soon turned away, her mind on Simmons and the future rescue. She released the sails and Dex maneuvered the ship with swift, precise movements.

And just like that, they were seaborne. The ship broke through the waves and the foam and the wind tore at her face and hair, and Kai felt full.

“Do you remember how to take the helm?” Dex asked her.

“I…”A pang of sorrow went through her.

She recalled her mother showing her how to rule over a ship, picking her up when she was small, because she couldn’t reach otherwise. Teaching her how to feel the wood move slightly under her hands, how the ship seemed to have a will of its own yet could let itself be led. When Kai had tried alone, tiny hands barely able to hold on to the handles of the helm, she’d felt exhilarated, complete.

But that had been so long ago, and she hadn’t been on a ship since…

Even if she knew how to sail, even if she remembered the lessons, she was sure she must have forgotten how to do it. Were she to try it now, she was afraid she would only feel paralyzing fear.

Kai swallowed the melancholy and the memories. “Not really,” she admitted quietly, unwilling to share all of that with anyone else.

Her brother nodded. “That’s alright.” He took her hands and put them on the helm under his own. His voice was soft, and maybe he saw more than she intended. “I can teach you this time.”

After a while, she could feel it again, and it was, in a way, like coming home. The ship, the sea, all at her disposal. Kai smiled. Eventually, she relaxed, and Dex let go of her hands and stood by her side.

“So,” she said, “where are we going?”

“To Rat’s Nest.” Dex smiled. “We have a motley crew to pick up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Grif siblings, off to adventure! They don't have a map and they don't have a plan, but that's what makes it interesting!


	15. You Know Nothing of Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter has some threats and forms of torture, so things get a bit harsher. You can click to check the notes below if you want to see just a summary of the content of the chapter, which includes, very briefly and not graphically, the nasty stuff. I updated the tags accordingly, but watch out!

Simmons had grown accustomed to the noises of the ship by now.

The constant rustling of the waves against the hull. The cries of the seagulls flying nearby. The muffled undertakings on the deck as the crew maneuvered the vessel.

The sound of Gates’ footsteps as he descended the stairs to the brig.

After the horrifying scene he’d witnessed on the night of his capture, Simmons had run as fast as he could to back into the Captain’s cabin and shut the door, hearing the wine bottle shatter against it a moment later. He had huddled in a corner, trembling, watching the door with wide eyes. He’d been expecting the horde of undead to burst through it at any moment, with such intense dread, that it was almost a relief when only Ortez entered the room.

The man had sounded faintly displeased when he’d told him, “I gave you a chance, boy, but you’ve refused to give me the information I require. I am forced to give Gates free rein over you. And I assure you, if you continue to be difficult, the consequences will not be pleasant.”

Then the Captain had taken him to the brig and locked him there, Simmons being still too shell-shocked by what he’d seen to resist.

At first, it had been a kindness. Knowing the true nature of the crewmembers, he’d felt safer alone, separated from all of them by bars of hard steel in the belly of the ship. It had been a respite.

But the relief had only lasted until Gates’ first visit.

Simmons had been sitting down in a corner, still glad to be alone, when he’d first heard him. Without any semblance of a greeting, Gates jovially asked, “How are you finding your quarters?”

He stood at the bottom of the wooden stairs, a small square of sunlight illuminating his figure through the upper door, until he walked the few steps that separated him from Simmons’ cell.

The pale man leaned on the metal bars, peeking at Simmons through one of the spaces between. “Less luxurious than what you’re used to, I’ll bet.”

Simmons didn’t say anything.

“You don’t feel like talking?” Gates tutted. “That’s bad. Not for me, mind you. For you. The Captain thought by now you would’ve come to your senses.” He crouched, putting himself at Simmons' eye level, and continued, voice lowered. “Strictly between us, I knew you wouldn’t have. You see, he doesn’t understand people the way I do. He thinks that they should always act logically, and there is no logical reason for you to defy him. Why would you, when you know you’ll die for it?” Simmons shuddered.

“It doesn’t make sense to him. But I, on the other hand, can imagine why. I know we just met, but I understand you already, Simmons. You’re a coward,” he said, matter-of-factly, “but you’re still lying, trying to keep a secret when revealing it might just save your life. Which tells me that you won’t give it up so easily. At least not without some, er… convincing. Now, I’m not a seer, I don’t know exactly why you’re doing this. But if you ask me, you’re protecting someone. Her, him, both of them, I don’t give a damn. The only thing that matters is that you have a reason powerful enough to keep your pretty little mouth shut, even though you know it’s only going to cause you pain.” His fingers absentmindedly caressed the metal up and down. “A lot of pain.”

Simmons’ jaw worked as he swallowed. The pirate continued, “I’m going to be honest, boy. I don’t know if you actually know something of use, or if you’re just incredibly unfortunate. And I do mean _incredibly_ so.” Gates stood up straight and tapped on the cell bars once more as he walked away. “But either way… I’ll be seeing you around.”

 

* * *

 

“It's curious,” Gates had said the next day, sitting in front of his cell, voice low like he was sharing confidences with Simmons, “Captain Ortez wants you to tell him what you know, that's why he sent me here. But I?” He lifted a finger to his lips, as if he was considering his opinion. “I couldn’t care less if you talk or not.” He smiled, dazzlingly. “I just want to have fun.”

Nothing had truly happened during the visit, but Simmons was still tense throughout. Something about Gates unnerved him, a certainty that the man could be civil one minute and snap the next, without even losing his smile.

At least Gates wasn’t his only visitor. At times, some of the other pirates came down, tasked with bringing him food, water, changing the candles, or just keeping an eye on him. Though he’d seen a few of them looking at him with malice, others with pity, most with indifference, none of them had spoken to him. There were only two exceptions.

The first was York, the only one with whom Simmons had dared to start a conversation. The pirate had been a little uncomfortable, but he’d stayed for a while, and his presence helped him focus on something other than Gates.

“What day is it?” Simmons had timidly asked the first time he’d come.

The man had glanced at him. “Why, you’ve got somewhere to be?” His tone was joking, but he must’ve seen Simmons’ face, because he appeared regretful. “Er, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Simmons forced himself to say.

“Sorry, kid, but I’m not supposed to talk to you.” York sighed, looking genuinely apologetic. “Locus would order me flayed alive if I ruin this, and Felix would probably insist on doing it himself.”

His voice was surprisingly nonchalant, considering how his words made Simmons shudder. He shook his head, trying to focus on something that wasn’t that, and frowned. Those names were faintly familiar to him, but he couldn’t place them. “Locus and Felix?”

“Oh, right. I mean, Captain Ortez and Gates. Those are… I guess you could say, nicknames. They don’t really care to use them all that much anymore, but we do.” He looked melancholy. “All the people on this ship have them.”

Simmons knew that using a fake name, usually meant as both an intimidation tactic and a way to keep their family name unbesmirched, was not a rarity among pirates. But it seemed strange that every person in a crew of forty-odd members would have one. “Why?”

“Why? We're a bunch of mutineers. We killed our last Captain and have killed many others for petty reasons since. We're rotten inside. We're barely human beings anymore. Take your pick.” The pirate ran a hand over his face. “Most of us aren’t very proud of what we’ve been doing, I suppose that's the short version of it.”

Simmons perked up —if a few crew members disagreed with their commanders, perhaps he could convince them to free him. His hope must’ve shown on his face, however, because York winced as he looked at him. “I still can’t help you. I’m sorry.” And with that, he’d left.

Another time, as he grabbed the tray, Simmons had tentatively asked him, “Where are we going?” They had been travelling for a few days, and had anchored at a few points, but he’d never been brought out of the cell, much less out of the ship, and so had no idea what course they were following.

“Oh, you know, here and there. We’ve mostly been docking on the main hideouts.”York had shrugged. “We don’t really have a fixed destination right now. Since we’re just waiting for Felix to—” the pirate broke off abruptly and eyed him. Simmons swallowed. He knew what he meant. “Waiting for orders,” York settled for.

Then a bellowing voice had shouted from above, “York!” and the pirate had muttered, “Damn. Goodbye!” and hurriedly began climbing the stairs two by two.

York was not willing to help, but at least he filled Simmons’ days with something. He might not be willing to share certain things, but he was surprisingly chatty about his crewmates. He'd told him how he was so tired of the unfunny jests of Wyoming, which apparently was the one sporting an impressive black moustache. How Maine —a hulking man that had Simmons utterly terrified whenever he so much as glanced towards him— had changed since the curse, becoming an unfeeling husk of his former self, and how York was worried it would happen, was already happening, to all of them. How he understood why a few members of the crew had deserted them over the years. How he missed one man called Washington.

Simmons listened to it all, and tried not to dwell on the fact that the only reason York felt safe telling him those things was because he knew Simmons would not leave the Wraith alive.

 

* * *

 

York hadn’t come back down again. Despite knowing that he was as much a monster as any of the others, and that he refused to help, Simmons found himself missing him. Now he had no one to talk to but Gates.

Except for, if only once, the second outlier. Carolina.

“You need to talk,” was the first thing she'd said to him, after practically throwing him the tray of food, tone brusque.

“What?”

“You need to talk," she repeated slower, like she thought he was stupid.

Even disregarding the doubt on his intelligence, her words angered Simmons. At least York hadn't pressed him for information. “Why are you doing this? All of you?” he demanded.

“It's not that hard to understand.” Carolina fixed him with a look. Her intense eyes were emerald green, and yes, she definitely thought he was stupid. “We want to be cured,” she stated. "We're willing to do anything to achieve that.”

“Anything,” he echoed flatly. He thought of the butler, of the sailors, of Kai, his outrage steadily growing. She hadn't done anything to them. She'd been a _child_ when she'd come to Armonia, for god's sake. What grudge could they have against her? “Anything? Does that include—?” He cut off, itching to argue on her behalf, but knowing he couldn't speak of her. “Does that include killing innocents, kidnapping me, threatening me?”

He saw the pirate's hands balling into fists. Although thinking that she may well hit him, he continued, “I haven't done anything to you! I don't have anything to do with this, I don't know anything—”

“You're lying,” Carolina said then. “Do not lie to Felix. You're bad at it. He'll know you lie, and he dislikes that.” She drew nearer to the cell. “We only do what we must. And you'd do well to come to your senses and talk, if you want to live through this.”

“You're going to kill me either way,” Simmons managed to say, voice only faltering a little. “Even if I have no idea what y—”

“You are such an _idiot_ ," she bit out harshly. “Whoever you're protecting, do you think they'd do the same for you? Do you truly believe that, if the tables were turned, they wouldn't betray you?”

Simmons stared at her, and all caution abandoned him. “Yes,” he said fiercely.

In the resulting silence, he was aware that it had been stupid to say it, but it was true. He didn't regret it. She could run to Gates, tell him that he'd finally admitted to knowing something. She could stay and torment him for more information herself. Simmons didn't care. He wouldn't talk, he wouldn't give Kai up so they could do to her whatever they were planning on doing to him, or worse.

Carolina's jaw worked. “Then you're an even bigger fool than I thought.” Where it had been angry, her voice was now bitter. She stared at him for a moment longer, then walked away.

Her hands were still clenched into fists.

 

* * *

 

Simmons didn't follow Carolina's advice.

So Gates tried something else.

One day, the first mate's voice roused him from sleep, even if it hadn’t been particularly loud. A mere “Rise and shine, Simmons,” and he’d jumped up from the floor, pressing himself against the far end of the cell and trying to locate Gates in the darkness.

It must have been the middle of the night, or it might as well be, as the trap door was closed and the few lanterns that were lit when he’d fallen asleep had been put out. He could not see anything.

He pricked up his ears, but there was only the wind, the sea and the deck cracking above. But he’d heard Gates, he was sure. Hadn’t he? Had he left, silent as a spirit? Was he still here, watching Simmons?

He didn’t know.

Simmons closed his eyes, trying to convince himself that it had been his mind playing tricks on him, but the moment his breathing began to slow down, another noise disrupted the peace.

And it went on for hours. He’d doze off, and in what seemed like seconds, he’d be woken up by the sounds of tapping on wood, or a clanging against the metal bars of his cell. Eventually, he gave up on trying to sleep.

Nobody came to see him the next day, not even to bring him food or water. Simmons' stomach kept keening at him, and the feeling was so unfamiliar and awful, that he almost felt glad at seeing Gates finally appear. However, his heart sank when he saw that the first mate was empty-handed.

“You can't do this,” he said, the thirst and the hunger making him bolder than usual.

“Oh?" Gates came near the cell, a slightly acerbic edge to his voice. “I'm sorry, do you have any complaints about the service?”

Simmons licked his lips. “I haven't eaten anything today.”

Gates shrugged. “I'm sure that's your choice. There must be at least a couple of rats hiding down here.”

Simmons' stomach twisted in disgust. He tried again. “I need food. And water.”

Gates seemed to ponder it. “Well, you have two options, really. One, you stay here nice and cozy with an empty stomach, or two, you can dine on deck with the crew, but you'll do so naked.” At Simmons’ affronted silence, Gates sent him a falsely confused look. “Not something you’d like to try?” He clicked his tongue. “In that case, good night.”

Hours passed. Two days later —was it? He’d lost count of the days by then, without food or sleep or sunlight to help keep track of them—, Gates appeared in the brig bearing a gift. A single cup of water. Simmons had to blink a few times to convince himself of what he was seeing.

“I’ve been thinking,” the first mate said, tone considerate, “I might have been too harsh with you. Haven’t I, sweet thing?” Simmons eyed the cup with greedy eyes.

Gates finally set it down next to the cell, and Simmons almost tripped in his hurry to grab the cup and take a long swig.

It was saltwater.

As he spat out the liquid, he heard Gates laugh, and the door to the brig close.

 

* * *

 

Simmons was fairly certain that he was going to die.

His stomach had stopped churning, now it just felt like a bottomless pit. His mouth was dry as paper, and he knew that, unless Gates bent, he would not last long like this. He tried to remember what Sarge had said in his often exaggerated reccountings of his adventures as a sailor. How long could a person survive without water? Was it three days? Four? 

Bones heavy, he felt like he could barely move. But it seemed like every time he tried to sleep, there was Gates to bring him back to consciousness. Simmons knew that it couldn't be so, but whenever his eyes closed, he heard him, his footsteps on the stairs, his tapping on the cell bars, and he would come around with a start. He laid against the wall, too tired to move, and would hear himself weakly beg, “Please…” but there was never an answer.

His vision played tricks on him, or perhaps it was the paranoia. Several times he thought he spied Gates observing him, only to turn his head and see only air. On one occasion, he thought he saw a red-haired someone —Carolina?— looking at him, but it seemed like he’d blinked and she was gone.

It was not pleasant. Oh, to hell with euphemisms, it was wretched. But curiously enough, with every passing second, it seemed to get easier. Easier to just sit there and let time go by until it all ended.

On his next visit, however, Gates decided to remind him that he would not let Simmons have such a painless death.

The pale man had come down, face twisted in a scowl, every movement of his body indicating barely contained fury.

“The Captain isn’t pleased,” he almost spat. “He is blaming _me_ for your silence. And you know what? I didn’t care whether you talked or not, but this, this is just making me look bad. I’ve been too soft on you, I see that now.”

“Soft?” Simmons managed to rasp out. “Every minute I've been on this ship has been hell.”

“You think this is hell? You know nothing of hell, boy. But I can show it to you.” Gates had begun circling the cell, and Simmons was suddenly reminded of a dangerous wild animal, even if he was the one in a cage. “So, how must I hurt you? What is it going to take? Flogging? I don’t think you can take even one taste of the whip, boy. The keel is usually entertaining, but it’s the same problem —you’ll probably die just as soon as it’s begun. And where’s the fun in that?” He opened the door to the cell. Simmons exhaled haltingly as he stepped closer, but Gates went on, voice now unaffected as usual.

“Or,” His hand went to his belt and Simmons huddled in the corner, as if he could get far enough from him, “we could use a knife. That’s my preferred method.”

His free hand shot out and pulled at Simmons’ hair, forcing him to look up. Gates idly rested the knife on Simmons’ cheek, and he made a fruitless effort to stop shaking. “It’s so small and simple that it lets me savor things, and it lets you believe there’s a chance you’re not going to die.”

Gates was wrong. Simmons knew that he was going to die. He thought of Kai, of Sarge, of his father. He'd never see them again, and none of them would ever know how he'd died, they wouldn't even find his body…

“I wonder if you bleed prettily.” Gates crouched next to him, examining his face closely. “Maybe I’ll just cut out your eye.” Simmons whimpered, his tears wetting the blade that was still softly pressed to his skin. “Or I could start slow, maybe trace your freckles,” Gates mused. “Go from one to the other with the tip of my knife, shallowly at first, then see how deep I can go… I could trace constellations. You’re an educated boy, you must know them. Do you have a favorite to begin with? I’m thinking Andromeda, are you familiar with the story? I might—”

“Felix,” Carolina’s voice cut through his speech, and Gates looked up, a plainly annoyed expression on his face. “The Captain has requested your presence.”

“Can’t he see I’m in the middle of something?” the first mate said emphatically.

“He's not pleased.” Simmons couldn’t see her with Gates holding his face up, but the woman sounded impatient. “Should I tell him you refused, then?”

Gates seemed to hesitate —a few seconds that seemed like hours—, but eventually let go of Simmons, leaving him on the floor. He sheathed his knife as nonchalantly as if he hadn’t been just about to maim him with it, and leaned down to murmur, “Don’t you worry, Simmons. I’ll be back.” He gently tucked a lock of hair behind Simmons’ ear. “In the meantime, do try to reflect on what you want to do, hmm?”

The first mate closed the door to the cell before going up the stairs. Carolina followed after him silently.

Simmons kept crying, and once he'd let himself, he found he couldn't stop. He wanted this to end, couldn't this end…

He was still sitting there, unaware of how much time had passed, when his blood ran cold.

There were footsteps coming down again.

Simmons sniffled, trying to quiet his sobs, but it was hard with panic taking hold of him. Had Gates not had enough, had he not tortured him already for today, would he give him no respite, was he coming to—

He heard someone take a deep breath, and looked up from where he’d been hiding his face in his arms.

Carolina was standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the cell, a stormy expression on her face. Her fingers twitched. Simmons watched as she took a couple of determined steps, somehow managed to quietly slam the keys in, and opened the door like she wanted to break the metal with her bare hands.

She advanced like a hurricane towards him. Simmons pressed himself even further into the back of the cell, terrified, but she only raised a hand and gestured for him to come. He merely looked on, confused, and couldn’t believe his ears when her gritting teeth parted to say, “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To sum up: Simmons was kept in the Wraith for a few days. Over the course of his stay, in order to try and get him to talk, Felix tried depriving him of food, water and sleep, and later threatened him with physical torture (although this didn't actually end up happening). But luckily, Carolina showed up and saved Simmons from his cell, so this rough patch should be over.


	16. Rat’s Nest

His whole body was covered in dirt, mud, and probably other things that he refused to think about.

Carolina had relentlessly dragged them through every back alley and sketchy tavern in this godforsaken port town, or so it seemed to Simmons’ aching legs.

He didn’t know what she was looking for —she hadn’t stopped to explain. Hadn’t explained anything, actually. Neither why she had freed Simmons, nor why she had chosen to come with him. She’d merely pulled him along, tight-lipped and looking increasingly irritated. She clearly wanted to leave this island as fast as possible.

Well, Simmons thought with a sigh, as he leaned against a wall during a rare moment of rest while she talked to a tavern patron in a low voice, at least they had that in common.

This town, if it could even be called that, was the most disgusting place he’d ever been to. The streets were paved with mud and, if his sense of smell was correct, other less pleasant substances. Even more uncoordinated than usual in his state, he’d stumbled and fallen a couple of times, so now he felt dirty from head to toe.

Carolina looked much the same, although in her case, she’d done it to herself. She’d actually gone and smeared some of the dirt on her face and hair, before Simmons’ disgusted eyes.

But the filth was the least of his worries. Simmons’ feet ached, his legs burned, hunger panged at him without mercy, and his eyes were growing heavier with every blink, slippery black shapes already appearing on the edges of his vision. He hadn’t slept or eaten in… How many days had it been? Three? Four? More? He wasn’t sure, but it had been long enough that even the ground looked comfortable and the mud appetizing.

When Carolina had rescued him from the brig and hefted them up onto a boat —after going through a strangely empty deck—, he’d assumed she must've loaded it with supplies beforehand. But once they’d been out on the open sea, with the sun coming out of the horizon as she rowed, he’d noticed that there was nothing aboard except for them.

It had taken him a few tries to find his voice and bring it past his dry lips. “You haven’t brought any food? Water?” he managed to rasp.

“No time,” she replied curtly. It might have been true, but Simmons suspected, a little unkindly, that she hadn’t remembered because _she_ didn’t need to eat at all.

Suddenly, Carolina had stopped rowing. “This is far enough,” she said, and to Simmons’ surprise, she brought her hands to her neck and unclasped none other than the gold medallion.

“Put it on.” She handed it to him and fixed him with a severe look. “Do not, _ever_ , let it touch the seawater. Understood?”

Simmons nodded, a little uncertainly. As she resumed rowing, he asked, “Why don’t you keep—?”

“I don’t even want to touch it,” Carolina snapped, irate.

As it suited him just fine —tracing the familiar rough engravings with his thumb was already calming him— Simmons complied, and put the medallion around his neck, feeling slightly better.

He might’ve dozed off, had it not been for the violent shakes the sea delivered on their boat. Simmons wasn’t exactly afraid of water anymore, but as it had done many times before, his hand found the medallion and clutched it until they reached shore, where he’d erroneously believed he’d find respite.

They had not stopped moving since they’d left the boat at the docks, and Carolina kept looking over her shoulder. Simmons couldn’t summon the energy to do the same, but he shared her paranoia. If they stayed here, wherever here was, for too long—

Simmons was pulled back from his thoughts when she took his arm without warning and made to resume their trek.

He didn’t follow, fearing his legs would give out on him. “Stop,” he breathed out more than said. “Stop, wait, I can’t… I can’t go on like this.”

Carolina’s lip twisted and she pulled on his arm again. “Well, you have to.”

“I’m so tired, I…”

She looked infuriated. “I’m sorry that this isn’t a pleasure visit in which you get to sit comfortably on your golden carriage, all high and mighty, while looking down at everyone else,” she spat out. “You think I’m happy having to set foot in this rotten town? I’m trying to save your life, you ungrateful little—”

“I can’t go on!” Simmons blurted out, desperate. “I haven’t slept or eaten in days, I need to— I just need to stop. Please. Just for a little while.”

There was a pause. When Simmons raised his head, he saw that Carolina’s lips were pressed into a thin line.

Her voice was less harsh when she spoke again. “Look, we can’t stop. If they find us, we’re dead meat. Yes, even me, I guarantee you they have their ways,” she said darkly at his doubting look. “We need to leave _now_.”

Simmons hung his head. He knew she was right, and he’d rather die than go back to the Wraith.

But he was still so, so tired, and he didn’t see an end in sight to this escape. “Where are we going? What are we even looking for?”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and if he didn’t know better, he would’ve said she was nervous. “I’ve been asking around. It turns out… There’s a ship here that I might be able to get us into. But the crew may not welcome me.” She eyed him. “Or you, for that matter.”

Simmons found that aside strange, as he was sure he’d be welcome on any respectable ship, but he eagerly asked, “And where is it?”

“Apparently, it was in the shipyard until very recently. Something about a near shipwreck.” The twist of her lip made it very clear what she thought of such sloppy seafaring, and Simmons wondered what made her choose that particular ship in spite of it.

She looked off to the side, as the man she’d been talking to before bid her farewell. “Right now, it’s at the docks. Come on.”

Carolina put his arm over her shoulder this time, and with her help, Simmons dragged himself to his feet.

 

* * *

 

By the time they reached the pier, the sun had almost set.

Carolina was frowning at the sky. Simmons understood why. There were barely any clouds today, and when night fell and the moon came out, mud or no mud, it would be much harder for her to walk around and evade prying eyes. He supposed being an immortal skeleton was usually a perk, but not when one’s objective was to remain unnoticed.

They had to find this crew, convince them to let them enroll, and hopefully board the ship, all before Carolina was revealed as a member of the Wraith, or…

Simmons didn’t want to think of the alternative.

Most of the docked-in ships where empty, their crews no doubt currently getting drunk in the taverns that this port had to offer, if not busy with its other entertainments. They moved, flanked by their dark floating shapes. There, almost at the end, there was a light, and a few figures standing in front of a vessel…

Simmons almost tripped, he wasn’t sure if with a loose board or with his own feet. His companion didn’t let him fall, but he was too tired to look up.

“Carolina?” a shocked male voice broke the silence.

She sighed. “Yes, it’s me, Wash.”

“Who the hell is this?” another one chimed in. “And who the hell is that?”

Staying on his feet only thanks to Carolina’s grip, Simmons lifted his head. Before him, there was the most colorful assortment of people he had ever seen, but he realized with sinking certainty that there was one thing they all had in common.

“Oh, no,” he said dismayed, barely any breath left in him, “not more pirates!”

“So he’s a rude bastard, huh,” observed a dark-skinned man with dreadlocked hair, the one who had just spoken.

“Takes one to know one,” the first one, Wash, interjected in a sardonic tone. He was not looking at Simmons or at his companion, however. His almond-shaped eyes were fixed on Carolina.

“I _am_ a pirate!” a grinning man, much taller and brawnier, helpfully confirmed.

Carolina glanced at Simmons. “Believe me, kid,” she said, sounding irritated, “it doesn’t make me any happier than you to have to turn to this sorry bunch.”

“Well, that's not very nice!” interjected a blond man, glancing at a bespectacled one next to him. “If perhaps accurate.”

A disembodied voice said, from the shadows further down the dock, “What’s going on? Isn’t the ship ready? Why are all of you just standing there talking?”

Simmons turned his head to find himself looking right at none other than Dexter Grif.

“You!” Simmons exclaimed.

Grif’s eyes widened as he spotted Simmons, then did so further when they reached Carolina.

Lightning quick, the pirate unsheathed his sword, his whole body suddenly tense. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Simmons felt a little offended until he realized that, judging by the direction of Grif’s furrowed brow, his hostility was aimed at the woman.

Carolina tightened her grip on Simmons’ arm and withstood Grif’s glare. “I left the Wraith,” she said, her voice flat. At the mention of the cursed ship, the other pirates let out alarmed gasps, and their hands went seeking their blades too. Unbothered by the display, Carolina continued. “We need to board a ship so we can lose them.”

“Is that so.” Grif’s eyes went from her to Simmons and back. “And why did you bring him? What’s your play?” His tone was suspicious, like he was expecting to be offered a bad deal.

Simmons’ hopes shattered even more. Was this Carolina’s plan? To ask an enemy crew to join in, and use him as some sort of bargaining chip in order to be granted passage aboard? If so, he didn’t think Grif would take the deal, considering how their first and only encounter had gone, but his stomach still lurched at the thought.

Carolina’s grip tightened again, but this time it seemed to be out of reflex. “There’s no play. He was on board too.” There was a pause, and then she added, brusquely, “Look, he’s here, I’m here, you’re here, and we’re all being pursued by the same bastards. So either you take us with you, or you don’t, and the kid and I both end up down in the Locker. Up to you.”

Grif snorted. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, coming to _me_ and making demands.” His eyes paused briefly on Simmons, his stubborn expression unchanging. “What’s to stop me from only taking him with us and leaving you here?”

Simmons stared at him incredulously, but Grif was not looking at him anymore. Rather, he seemed to be locked in a silent battle of wills with Carolina.

Grif shook his head. “Why did you leave the Wraith?”

“I have my reasons,” she said stiffly.

“Not good enough,” Grif bit back.

A few seconds passed.

“Fine,” Carolina snapped. “I'll find another way. Take him, then.”

“No,” Simmons said weakly.

The entire crew, and Carolina, turned to stare at him.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were the ones begging to come with us?” Grif questioned.

It was the only way to escape Locus, Felix and their crew, but Simmons could not take it. He couldn’t be naïve again. Grif had seemed as shocked to see him as he himself had felt, but Simmons would not be fooled this time. He had thought Grif harmless before, and he’d been proven wrong. He had believed pirates could be honorable, and that had earned him captivity and torture.

Just because Grif and Carolina opposed the Wraith did not mean their intentions were good. Just because they had saved him didn’t mean that they couldn’t turn against him at any moment, whenever it was most convenient for them. That was what Sarge had been trying to teach him all these years, he had realized that by now. That pirates were such because they didn’t care about anyone else. They were just out for themselves.

He couldn’t trust a pirate. He remembered the chain against his neck, the sudden strikes, the threats. He couldn’t trust any of them.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Simmons spat with as much venom as he could muster in his exhausted state. “ _None_ of you. I’ve had enough of treacherous, lying, stinking, bloody pirates!”

There was a brief silence after his outburst.

Then, a different voice, painfully familiar, shot out from the dock. “Alright, move it, people! What the hell is everyone still doing down here?”

Simmons let out a shaky breath as a figure emerged from the darkness. “Kai…?”

Her eyes found him, then, and widened. “Simmons!”

He tried to run to her, but it was probably lucky that she reached him first, because he wasn’t sure if he could have taken a step on his own without keeling over. Her arms wrapped around him as his knees buckled, but she didn’t let him fall.

“Kai,” Simmons heard himself sob, which was childish, and embarrassing, and a waste of air for most important things that needed to be said, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t believe it. What was she doing there, what was she doing with those people? Had she come looking for him?

“You’re safe,” she was saying over and over. “Oh, gods, Simmons…”

He gasped for air, trying to repress the sobs and get the relevant words out, only managing a mangled, “Kai, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t tell them, I promise, I didn’t tell them anything but they knew, I don’t know how, they’re after you…”

“I know,” she cut him off, her hold tightening. “I know, it’s alright.” She looked off to the side, muttering, “How are you here?”

Simmons felt her body freeze, and he supposed that meant she had seen Carolina. Before he could say anything about her, however, Wash spoke up.

“Carolina saved him,” he said simply. Simmons turned to look. Everyone was now staring at Grif, who was still scowling at the redheaded woman.

“Truly?” Kai sounded surprised. She looked down at Simmons, probably looking for confirmation. He nodded, once.

“And now she wants to come with us,” Grif added with a bitter note to his voice.

Kai stared at Carolina for a minute, then took a deep breath. “If she rescued Simmons, I think she should come.”

Grif sharply turned towards her. “I don’t trust her,” he snapped.

“Me neither,” Kai bit her lip, “but she did save him. And, if we leave her here…”

“…She may tell the Wraith in which direction we went,” Grif finished for her, tone defeated. His jaw worked. He slowly sheathed his blade with a sigh, although his posture remained vigilant. “ _Fine_. You’re welcome aboard the Reconnaissance. But move your arses and do it now. We’ve already been here longer than we should.”

Simmons felt Kai brush his head with her hand and nod. “Right. Simmons, come with me.”

She tried to pull him along, but he didn’t move, and she looked at him questioningly. “Simmons?”

He could only shake his head as a reply.

Kai’s expression went rueful. “Simmons… please, you have to come with us.”

He shook his head again.

She exhaled slowly. “Simmons, if we don’t leave, the Wraith will catch us. And I know you probably can’t believe me, but they,” she gestured to the pirates, “are not like the people on the Wraith. I know you can’t trust them right now, but,” she took his shoulders, gently but firmly, and looked him in the eyes, “trust me.”

Simmons let out a shaky breath. Kai’s eyes were as honest as ever.

And he was so, so tired of resisting. “Okay.”

Kai nodded, plainly relieved. “Okay,” she said. She turned back to the crew. “All of you, to the ship, now.”

The rest obeyed, though Grif sent them a look that seemed indecipherable before doing so.

To Simmons’ relief, Kai didn’t let go of him as they boarded, keeping her grip tight on his shoulders until they reached a small cabin.

“You can sleep here.” Gently, Kai helped him out of his dirty clothes. He heard her take a sharp breath, and then, after a moment, she pulled the medallion over his head. He kept his gaze down, trembling, too exhausted and ashamed to face her now that she knew that he...

She didn’t say anything about it, however, and after making him drink a few gulps of water, tucked him in.

He was so tired that he was sure he’d fall asleep the second his head touched the pillow, but he did not. His whole body refused to unwind, still too wary of its surroundings.

After closing the door and lighting a few candles, Kai turned towards him. Simmons curled in on himself, not meeting her eyes —he must look pathetic, not to mention ungrateful.

Her face twisted and she looked like she was going to weep, a desire that mirrored his own. Instead, she sat on the mattress next to him, took off her boots and spoke, in that soft voice Simmons had only ever heard her use with him.

“This is my cabin. So this is my bed. We can both sleep in it, just like we did sometimes when we were kids.” Her shoulder bumped his lightly. “Do you remember that?”

He nodded.

“Like when I had nightmares after I first arrived in Armonia.”

Simmons let out a breath. “Or when my father yelled at me after our fencing lessons.” He looked at her, suddenly feeling bashful. “We haven’t done it since we were children.”

She smiled. “True. But I think we can make an exception tonight.” With that, she laid down on the bed, face still turned to his.

Her voice was lower when she said, “You’re safe here. Everything is going to be alright. I promise.”

Kai gripped his hand tight, and after a while, Simmons almost believed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lil' reference to Ludo's "Rotten Town" in this chapter. The song was pointed out to me, aaaaall the way back in May, by [ a_taller_tale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/pseuds/a_taller_tale), because it reminded her of this fic and of POTC, and with good reason. Thank you for the cool song rec and for encouraging me about this fic!


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